


His Mind, His Heart, His Soul

by lohengrinn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Godesses, Alternate Universe - Magic, Established Relationship, Grand Quest kind of deal, I literally cannot tag, Kuroo makes a bargain, M/M, Magic Users, Seperation, fairytale AU, ish, not a very smart one but it's a fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-17 18:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lohengrinn/pseuds/lohengrinn
Summary: Kuroo will never forget that day: the blackthorn wreath resting atop Kenma’s golden hair like a crown, the ivory and gold ceremonial robes, the flower garlands draped over his neck, the golden bracelets on his arms - so plentiful he seemed to be drowning in them - and worst of all, the dead, resigned look in his eyes as he turned around from the gathered crowd and walked into the forest. Kenma hadn’t struggled, hadn’t tried to escape, and worst of all, hadn’t even looked Kuroo in the eye, even though he’d surely heard him scream. Kenma had just walked on, perfectly obedient, past the first line of trees and out of sight.A year has passed, and Kuroo has returned home and faced the place the place that had haunted his dreams day in and day out. There is more magic in the air than what he recalls, and the forest is calling his name.





	1. Calling to you in a dream..

Kuroo had not seen this part of the country in a little over a year. He had not wanted to. Everything around him, from the snow-capped mountains in the distance to the snow spiralling softly down onto the frozen earth, reminded him of Kenma, and what his grandfather and village elders had done. Kuroo gripped the reins a little tighter in his gloved hands at the thought, and trudged onward through the snow, pulling his uncooperative horse after him. In the distance, faint plumes of smoke marked the Nekoma village, the place he’d once called home, before it had gotten too painful to even think of it. Kuroo had left the village as soon as he had been able to, which happened to be the first day of the Fall Festival that same year. His grandfather and elders had expected him to stay at least a year longer before travelling south to the temple and completing his rites, but Kuroo had insisted, because ever since that night - since _Calan Mai_ \- he could not look them in the face or close his eyes without seeing Kenma being led forward like a sacrificial lamb. The nightly terrors and headaches had lifted as soon as he’d crossed the river on his way south, but the memory still tugged at his heart.

The first roof came into view, and Kuroo couldn’t help but feel a little relieved - he had not looked forward to returning, but his body yearned for his mother’s stew and a comfortable bed. He lifted his hand and gave the little brooch at his shoulder a squeeze. It meant that he had completed his training and was able to replace his grandfather as the village leader when the time came. It _also_ meant that if he wanted it or not, he was tied to the village for life.

‘Mama! Uncle’s home!’ Kuroo barely saw the small figure that darted out from the trees and sprinted toward the village, kicking up snow as it went. His nephew’s black mop of hair disappeared around a corner as he kept calling for his mother in excitement. Other villagers began looking out of their doors and windows, curious to see who had returned. Some abandoned their work and came forward to greet him as if he’d been gone a decade at least. Someone took his horse from him and led it toward the stables - Kuroo didn’t even get to see who it was before he was in his mother’s arms.

His mother had to stand on tiptoes to kiss both his cheeks, and even then he had to lean down to help her reach. Ignoring the chattering crowd, she pulled him inside and shut the door, leaving the curious neighbors to grumble and eventually disperse. Kuroo collapsed into a fur-covered armchair and basked in the silence. He could smell dinner from the kitchen, but he couldn’t do much but think about helping. Besides, his mom would probably shoo him out anyway.

He glanced around, and found that very little had changed. The house was the largest in the village, yet in comparison to the temple in which he had lived and trained for the past year, it was tiny. Kuroo’s eyes fell on a large painting, hanging over the fire. Seven figures smiled back at him. He remembered that day: a travelling artist had visited their village, and his grandfather had commissioned a family portrait. They had stood, unmoving, for four hours until it was finished. Kuroo looked at his seven year old self. His mom had slicked his hair down and tried to make him look as neat as possible, but in the painting, his hair still stuck up in odd angles from his head. He was grinning, one hand up at his brow in a playful salute. Beside him was Kenma, smiling shyly, his hand entwined with Kuroo’s. Kuroo smiled, although his heart hurt. Kenma was not family, he technically didn’t belong with Kuroo and his two sisters, but Kuroo had pleaded until his grandfather had relented. He could still remember some of the arguments he’d used, that had reduced his moms to helpless laughter and cooing: “But Kenma and I are going to get married when we’re older!” It had been a far better time. They’d been so optimistic… they has no idea what was coming for them.

His mom came back into the room, carrying a steaming bowl of stew. He pushed the thought of Kenma away and thanked her, mouth already watering. Of all the things in the village, he’d missed his mother’s stew the most.

‘Where’s mama?’ He asked, through a mouthful of stew. The taste brought back all sorts of pleasant memories, and warmed his frozen bones.

‘She’s helping at the bakery.’ His mom said, sitting down across from him. ‘The roof fell in because of the amount of snow we got, and the entire village has gotten together to help.’

There was a pause, and Kuroo wordlessly indulged in the warmth of his stew. He could feel his mother’s eyes on him, and hear the village children laugh and scream as they had a snowball fight outside their windows. A stray snowball hit the window with a distinct thud. He paid it no heed.

‘Your grandfather is at the Altar, doing the ceremonial cleaning.’ His mother said, and Kuroo glanced up from his stew. He didn’t want to see his grandfather: he still didn’t think he was able to look him in the eye or hug him, knowing he had been the one to make the final decision that a blood sacrifice to the spirits was necessary. ‘I know darling, I know it’s difficult.’ His mother could read him like an open book - they both could. ‘But you know your grandfather didn’t have a choice.’

‘Everyone has a choice.’ Kuroo had heard that argument enough times. “The spirits demand what they demand, we cannot refuse them” or “If not for the sacrifice, the plague would have never lifted and we would not be alive today”. He did not believe them. His mother just sighed without saying anything, and Kuroo felt guilty. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s alright, I understand.’ His mother took the empty bowl from his hands before he had the chance to stand up and wash it himself. ‘You must be exhausted,’ she said over her shoulder, and Kuroo felt like he’d just been scolded. The message in her tone was obvious enough, and Kuroo dragged himself up the stairs to his old room.

The yellowed sheet of paper with his name and drawings of him and Kenma was still nailed onto the door, as it had for the last decade, and he resisted the urge to rip it down. Things were not going to get any easier, not even after a year. He took a deep breath and entered the room. His heart sank.

The bedsheets were crisp and white, but other than that, nothing had been changed in the room. It was obvious that it had been dusted and the window had been cleaned routinely over the past year, but whoever had done it had taken the utmost care to leave it exactly as they had found it. He walked around, slowly, trailing his fingers over the items he’d forgotten he owned. He stopped at his desk.

The day before _Calan Mai_ , Kenma had been over at his house. Normally, he slept at the apothecary’s, as the apothecary had become his mentor and guardian following the deaths of Kenma’s parents in a tragic accident when he was a little boy. They had played chess, and their unfinished game was still laid out, on Kuroo’s desk. Kenma’s cloak was still draped over the back of Kuroo’s chair. He touched the very tip of Kenma’s king with a shaky finger, a weak smile on his face. Everything had been so wonderful, the two of them, happy together, freshly of age and in love, not giving a damn if the world crashed and burned around them. Kuroo was going to go and ask the apothecary permission to court Kenma on _Calan Mai_ , but instead he was dealt heartbreak and grief. He withdrew his hand and turned away from the board, heart pounding. He could hear their laughter, echoing around the room.

Kuroo’s body welcomed the feeling of a soft mattress, but _he_ did not. He already knew what would happen: he would toss and turn for most of the night, haunted by memories, then eventually fall asleep, only to wake up screaming as his head flooded with images of that night. It had been like that every day since,until he left for the south. He dreaded it, but his exhaustion won over, and he drifted off to sleep.

He wasn’t in his bed anymore: there was grass under his feet, tickling his ankles, reaching all the way up to his knees. It was a clear summer day, the sun was warming his back, and he could hear the sound of laughing children as they splashed in the river.

Someone called his name and he turned around, searching for the source of the familiar voice. His heart leapt into his chest and he almost ran forward as he recognized the memory: it was the summer of his sixteenth year. The last happy summer he ever had. Kenma was approaching him with a shy smile, a wreath of summer flowers in his hands. Kuroo knew it was woven with love, and it was as good as a crown of solid gold and jewels when Kenma stood up on tiptoes to place it in his hair, blushing prettily as he did so.

Kuroo reached out and cupped Kenma’s cheeks in his hands, and Kenma looked up at him: the sunlight caught in his eyes, and he squinted a little. Kuroo had been taller back then, and by the time _Calan Mai_ came around, he still was. Kenma’s hair was damp - Kuroo remembered they’d gone for a swim not long before this moment - and framed his face in blonde and brown locks. Kenma was smiling softly, and Kuroo leaned down to kiss him, eyes sliding shut. The familiar feeling sent sparks up his spine - he’d missed it more than he was willing to acknowledge.

When Kuroo opened his eyes, Kenma was gone. So was the grassy field, the flowers in his hair and the sunshine. He was standing at the edge of a crowd, his father beside him, dressed in ceremonial robes. The area around them was lit up by braziers and torches, as it was the middle of the night. Kuroo’s heart dropped down to his feet when he recognized where he was. _Please, no… I can’t bear this again…_ He turned around, and saw the marble arch of the Altar behind him, iridescent in the moonlight, tall and imposing. _No, please, no!_ His heartbeat quickened when a murmur ran over the crowd, and his grandfather’s hand dropped onto his shoulder, heavy and firm. This time, Kuroo knew what was about to happen. Back then, Kuroo had been oblivious until the last moment, and Kenma hadn’t been allowed to see him to say goodbye.

Kenma was dressed in ivory and gold, just like Kuroo remembered from that awful night. The hawthorn wreath had cut his temple, made it bleed a little. He was drowning in gold as he was led forward to the arch. Kenma didn’t struggle, either resigned to his fate or perhaps even drugged. Kuroo wanted to reach out him, to pull him away, to run as fast as their legs could carry them. But his body refused to move, and the memory played on.

Kenma didn’t look at him, but turned his head the other way, even when Kuroo yelled his name. Kuroo didn’t remember what he’d said, but he knew he was screaming and struggling against his grandfather’s grip. He’d never lost his cool to that extent - definitely not in front of the entire village - and everything had been a blur. Everything, except the tall blue flame of the ceremonial braziers and the sight of Kenma’s back, disappearing into the woods.

Someone ran towards him and his grandfather, who was struggling to hold Kuroo back from chasing after Kenma into the sacred wood. Something was forced down his throat, and before long, the strength left his limbs and everything faded to black. Back then he’d been too distressed, too frantic to realize what it was. His aunt, fearing for his safety and the safety of the other villagers, had given him a strong sleeping potion, usually used for operations or to offer painless deaths to the wounded. Kuroo found out later that he’d been struggling so much, he’d left a permanent mark on his cousin, who’d attempted to help his grandfather: a scar, in the form of three white lines down the left side of his face where Kuroo had clawed at him.

When the darkness cleared, Kuroo did not find himself in his bed like he expected. A cool breeze made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. It was dark, and the full moon barely broke through the thick branches. In the half-light, he could just about recognize where he was: the marble arch, the unlit braziers, the dark shapes of the benches. This was the Altar, again. It wasn’t a memory: Kuroo had never braved the Altar in the dark.

Someone called his name and he whipped around, looking for it’s source, trying to make out shapes among the leaves. There was nothing there. The voice was still calling him, so he followed it. It led him straight to the marble arch and the salt-and-bone boundary, marking out the divide between human territory and the sacred wood. It was calling for him from beyond the border, but Kuroo stopped as soon as his toes grazed the stark white line of dead grass. Not even in a dream was he stupid enough to cross the millenia-old boundary. There was a whistle as something cut through the air and hit him in the chest. He fell backward, and everything went black.

Kuroo braced himself for another dream, but he sat up in his old bedroom, the morning sun streaming in through the windows. He could hear birds chirping outside, but the village was still asleep: he couldn’t hear any voices, or the patter of feet as the children went out to fetch water, like they did every morning. His chest hurt, but when the looked down at it, there was nothing. He rubbed the goosebumps on his arms away, and felt his heartbeat gradually slow. Dreams had haunted him many a night since _Calan Mai_ , so waking shaken was nothing new to him. Only that last dream, the voice calling to him from within the sacred forest, intrigued him. He threw off his blanked, and startled as he heard something clatter to the floor.

It was a small, golden pendant in the shape of a sun, with a tiny ruby lodged in the very centre.  Kuroo recognized it with a shudder. It had belonged to Kenma, and was the only thing he had left of his parents. Kenma had never taken it off, and had definitely worn it on _Calan Mai_. It disappeared with him into the forest, yet when Kuroo turned it over, he saw that the inscription on the back was the same.

> _For Kenma,_  
>  _May you be bright like the Sun,_ _  
> _ and may her light guide you wherever you shall go.
> 
> _We love you so much,_
> 
> _Mom & Dad. _

The pendant was real, not a dream - the metal dug into Kuroo’s hand painfully when he closed his fist around it and squeezed tight. He felt his heart speed up again. It was too much, the forest was too cruel… he’d just returned to a place that brought back bad memories, had woken from a series of almost-too-painful-to-bear dreams, and now this… Kuroo lifted the pendant to his lips and kissed it gently. He wasn’t sure if it was a curse or a blessing at this point, but the spirits had given him something to remember his lover - taken from him to soon - by.

Like an echo, the voice from his dream sounded again in the stillness of the morning. He shivered, and his gaze drifted to the window. He could just about make out the spot where the Altar was by the pattern in the trees. He blinked, and looked again. Two, thin plumes of smoke, almost invisible against the grey sky, rose from the clearing.

Kuroo’s heart thudded painfully in his chest as he scrambled into his clothes and fumbled with the clasp. There were only two logical explanations for the smoke: one, someone had lit the braziers, intending to make a sacrifice. The ceremonial braziers were only lit for that purpose. An unlikely second option was that there was a fire in the forest. Both of them required Kuroo’s immediate attention, and he hopped about on one foot, trying to lace up his boot. There was, of course, a third option, that the spirits were summoning the humans they ruled over, which they had not done for thousands of years, so Kuroo put it out of his mind.

Finally, after doing up what felt like hundreds of laces, he was dressed, and headed toward the door, but froze with his hand hovering just above the handle. The floorboards on the landing creaked, as did the front door, and in choosing that route, he’d risk waking his mothers…

The window latch was a little stiff when Kuroo wrestled it open and clambered onto the roof. _He_ was also a little stiff: he hadn’t done much exercise in the south, and let himself enjoy all the delicious food and other pleasures the region had to offer. He managed, and closed the window behind him so the draft wouldn’t upturn his room.

It was cold out, and a light drizzle of snow was falling from the sky. Holding onto the roof, he slowly made his way across, finding footholds and avoiding loose slates by muscle memory. He got to the chimney and climbed down, using the jutting out stone slabs as footholds. Kuroo jumped down onto the grass - it crunched as he landed - and rolled, more out of habit than necessity.

The village was still quiet, but Kuroo could hear the sound of pots and pans from one of the houses as breakfast was being prepared, and the creak of doors as children slipped out into the crisp morning to fetch water. Soon, his own moms would also rise to prepare food for the family, and find Kuroo missing… he’d better hurry.

There was not a soul in sight, but the ceremonial braziers were still burning bright, their twin blue flames rising high either side of the marble archway, when Kuroo stumbled onto the Altar grounds. Upon closer inspection, Kuroo saw that the instruments that were always used to light them were still perfectly clean: they had not been touched. The archway - the Altar - was engraved with runes and had been freshly cleaned, at least the portion of it that could be reached without passing the boundary. Kuroo knew his grandfather had been doing just that the evening before. Either side of the arch, the salt-and-bone line seperated what was human and what was not. Kuroo knew the line looped around further to the north, creating a perfect circle of sacred forest. Everything, besides the lit braziers, was perfectly normal.

Someone called his name from within the forest, and Kuroo jerked, violently. He lifted his eyes toward the forest, saw the brief twinkle of light among the branches, and, despite every nerve in his body telling him to run, took two steps forward, stopping when his toes touched the salt boundary. Just like he had done in the dream. This time, there was no hit, no attack. The forest had gone silent, the cries of birds fading into the distance, as if the entire world had stopped and was waiting with bated breath  to see what he will do next.

Kuroo lifted a hand to his brooch, and drew out the pin. He let it fall, along with his cloak, to the snowy ground. He looked at it, lying in a heap, and smiled: _at least if I don’t come back, they’ll know what happened to me._ He had not realized it then, but he had made an important decision as if it was nothing. Then, without hesitating another moment, he turned around and stepped over the boundary, walking briskly into the forest.

At first, he tensed, expecting some sort of immediate reaction from the spirits. When none came, he relaxed. The forest opened itself up to him: his eyes began to pick out a path that he did not know existed, but suddenly seemed perfectly obvious. The front line of trees was plain-looking, but once he cleared it, he saw that the trees within were bent and jagged, some looking disturbingly like human and animal skeletons, or worse yet, screaming faces.

Kuroo squeezed the pedant: he was aware that he was walking the same path hundreds of martyrs before him had walked, and he was oh so painfully aware of the attention on him. Not human attention, but the attention of the spirit folk. It was a kind of attention he would rather not have, but it was far too late now. What’s done was done, and all that was left to him now was to keep on walking.

After considerable time had passed, the forest gave way to a clearing, and Kuroo welcomed the open space. In front of him, there was a marble arch, one much like the one at his village. Adjoined to it either side, and continuing all the way around the clearing to form a circle, there were identical arches, all bearing a different symbol, from what Kuroo could see. The clearing itself was paved with perfectly flat, marble slabs, with a single gold circle in the very centre. He stood in it, and looked around.

‘Hello?’ He called, feeling a little idiotic. Kuroo had never seen this place, never _heard_ of it, not even during his studies in the temple. The reason was simple: nobody had ever seen it and lived. Even though his knowledge on the place was lacking, deep within his heart he understood where he was. It was the altar, and he was the willing sacrifice. ‘Excuse me?’ He tried again, as if politeness could appease whatever was coming for him.

A sudden gust of wind whistled through the trees and through the gaps between the millenia-old archways. Kuroo found himself wishing he hadn’t left his cloak behind, as he stood there, shivering in the spiralling snow. The vines, draped over the archways like nature’s handmade curtains, parted to let an invisible being through, and Kuroo tensed.

‘What might you be?’ A voice echoed around him, simultaneously from above and below, human and yet not. He couldn’t see it’s owner, but felt their presence like a crushing weight on his shoulders.

‘I’m Kuroo, Kuroo Tetsurou,’ Kuroo said, awkwardly. A chuckle was his response. In a flurry of white feather, a crow, as white as the snow around them, appeared, perched on the archway nearest him. It tilted it’s head to get a better look at him, and Kuroo understood he was looking at the owner of the strange voice.

‘I didn’t ask _who_ you were,’ the crow seemed mildly amused. ‘I know your name. I know your grandfather. I know your mothers, sisters, nephews and nieces. I asked _what_ you were.’ Kuroo frowned, not liking the way the crow listed off his family members, but it continued without giving him a chance to speak. ‘Are you a sacrifice from the village, begging Them for mercy in a time of distress? Or perhaps your people have gotten greedy, and want more riches? Conquest, perhaps? Or are you a curious wanderer, seeking answers? A brazen adventurer seeking glory?’

The white crow was a minor spirit, a messenger of the High Spirits that ruled the sacred forest and its adjoining village, Kuroo knew that. He also knew the crow’s name: Koushi. But he could not waste time and think about Koushi’s loyalties and motivations, not when he had been asked a question by a spirit, and while that question was still hanging. Testing a spirit’s patience was a recipe for disaster.

What _was_ he, really? He was not a sacrifice. His family did not know he was here, neither did his village elders. He was hardly a wanderer or adventurer. The truthful answer was “neither”, but dodging a proper answer was testing the spirit’s good nature… would it be satisfied? Kuroo turned Kenma’s pendant around and around in his hands as he thought, wary of every second that passed, knowing that a mistake here could end his journey prematurely.

‘Or perhaps…’ the white crow’s beady eyes were fixed on the pendant as it caught the sunlight between Kuroo’s fingers. ‘Are you _Him_?’

Kuroo’s mind drew a blank. He had never in his life heard of a Him, especially not one that would make the spirits wait for his arrival, but Koushi seemed interested in the pendant… It could have been Koushi’s natural, bird-like instincts to focus on the shiny metal, but it was worth a try. It was better than anything Kuroo had up his sleeve, anyway.

‘Do you mean this pendant?’ A pendant could hardly be “Him”, but Kuroo held it up for the crow to see anyway. Koushi’s eyes followed it, confirming Kuroo’s suspicions. There was something magical about the pendant, if Koushi didn’t even try to hide his interest. ‘It belonged to a…’ Kuroo hesitated. What had he meant to call Kenma? A boy? His friend? His lover? His other half? He frowned. ‘It belonged to Kenma, who was sacrificed to Them on _Calan Mai_ , the summer before last.’ Kuroo fought to keep the shaking from his voice as the memory flashed before his eyes. ‘It appeared in my room this morning, when I woke after dreaming of this forest—’

‘I put it there.’ Koushi interrupted him. That was news. Kuroo had known the pendant had a magical value, but had not considered the spirits could have been involved in its appearance on his bed. ‘I asked what you were to see how truthful you would be, and asked about Him to see if you grasped the pendant’s meaning. I have been disappointed.’

Kuroo opened his mouth to ask for a meaning, but Koushi swooped down from his arch and caught the pendant’s chain in his claws, Kuroo holding onto the other end. The ground beneath Kuroo’s feet opened, and he was falling, falling in a cloud of white feathers, the pendant cutting into his palm where he clutched it for dear life, warm blood trickling down his wrist.


	2. Triumvirate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you begin reading this chapter, I wanted to share some of the wonderful art inspired by this fic, and created by the darling Bee. You can find it [here](https://twitter.com/aakaaashi/status/1003683098167533569).
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

At first, Kuroo had thought he was dead. It would have been a logical, even expected outcome of challenging the gods in such a brazen way. But eventually, the ringing in his ears gave way to the quiet, steady sound of his heartbeat, beating rhythmically in his ears. His arm and entire left side was aching horribly, as if he’d landed on it after a considerable fall, and when he opened his eyes and saw the snow and white feathers lying all around him, he assumed that was what had happened. With some effort, he managed to sit up and look around.

 

Where he had found himself could hardly be described as a room. It was more of a _place_. The floor was solid - he could still feel where his body had hit it, hard - and made of marble, but where the walls would be expected, there was an enchanting dance of light and color, without any physical shape. It was as if his little square of marble flooring was suspended in pure sunlight.

 

Kuroo sensed a presence somewhere behind him and turned, his battered body protesting at the movement. He made a small, strangled noise and scrambled to his feet, unable to control the rush of emotion rising up inside his chest. There, standing a few steps away from him, was Kenma, dressed in long, ivory and white robes, without a hint of dirt or blood or any other injury or distress on his person.

 

‘ _Kenma_!’ Kuroo ran forward, tripping over his own feet, reaching out to Kenma, who simply smiled and braced himself for the incoming embrace.

 

The moment Kuroo finally got to Kenma and felt the fine fabric of his clothes in his hands, was the moment all of the tears he had done his best to hold back over the months burst free. He wrapped his arms around Kenma, never wanting to let go, because he was alive, he was with him, he was _there_ …

 

Kuroo closed his eyes and simply held Kenma close. He felt Kenma shift, and his arms wrapped around Kuroo’s neck, squeezing tight. Kuroo moved his hand a little, intending to run his fingers through Kenma’s hair, missing the feeling of it, but found nothing but fine, fine dust. He jumped back, startled, and tripped over his own feet, landing on his back on the marble floor. He scrambled to his knees again, and reached out to grab Kenma’s wrist - to stop whatever was happening to him - but his hand grasped air as the last of the fine gold dust fell to the floor.

 

That was the moment Kuroo realized that the spirits, despite what he’d been _trying_ to convince himself, despite what Koushi appeared to be, were not kind. They were completely disinterested in the happiness of their subjects, and assisted them only because it got them worship, glory and gifts. They did not care for their suffering, and he had handed himself over as their new plaything. They would play with him until the toy broke.

 

Kuroo stayed there, on his knees, clutching the fine dust tightly in his fist. That too, soon evaporated into thin air, leaving him with a bitter feeling in his mouth and pain in his chest. He sat down, and hugged his knees to his chest. He tried not to think about his moms - going mad with worry and grief, by now - or his sisters, or everything he’d left behind. He had promised himself to live a good, honourable life and study hard in Kenma’s memory, but he’d broken that promise after just over a year. He tried not to cry, but the tears fell anyway, their _plop!_ loud as they hit in the marble in the perfect silence, broken only by Kuroo’s muffled sobs. He felt completely alone, completely helpless and so, so _stupid_.

 

Something landed on his shoulder and he startled, lifting his head up. Koushi took off from his shoulder and perched on a marble table a few steps from him, that Kuroo was sure had not been there before. With all the amusement a crow could muster, Koushi tilted his head and gazed down at him. Kuroo wiped the tears from his eyes and glared, unable to find nothing but pure dislike for the white bird and everything it stood for.

 

‘So you really are Him,’ Koushi said, with a hint of what might have been admiration. ‘You really came here for Kenma.’

 

Kenma’s name - something so precious and _private_ \- sounded wrong in that ethereal voice. It made him angry, he wanted to grab Koushi and make sure he never spoke that name again. ‘I have half a mind to snap your little bird neck,’ he said, aware of how uncharacteristically angry he was becoming. ‘You call humans unintelligent but at least we have the decency not to reopen wounds that just scabbed over.’

 

Koushi chuckled, as if delighted with Kuroo’s anger. ‘Yet humans sacrifice their own young in hopes of better fortune,’ he said. Then, a pause. ‘You still have some fire left in you, that is good. You will need it, for when They come.’

 

Kuroo was about to ask what that entailed, when there was a rush of howling wind. He turned in it’s direction, and found his body being pushed down until he was bowing, his forehead against the floor. When he tried to rise, his body refused to obey him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Koushi land a step away from him and also bow - as best as he could, in his bird form - but when Koushi straightened up and took off, out of his view, Kuroo found that he still could not budge. There was a weight on his shoulders, tipped off with a magical signature he recognized. It was the religious fear that descended on everyone at the sight of the Altar, but never quite to his extent. He guessed that was in the presence of the Triumvirate, the three of the most prominent individuals among the High Gods that Kuroo’s people worshipped.

 

After what felt like forever, spent listening to his own racing heartbeat, some of the weight lifted, allowing him to straighten up and look at the arrivals, but not rise from his knees. He swallowed. It was easy to recognize who he was looking at, even if the murals and sculptures had made them all look a fair bit older, and he felt like he was committing a crime just looking at them.

 

The god standing front and centre regarded him with a mildly interested stare. Tooru, in his humanoid form, was a tall, very handsome young man with curly, light brown hair. Deer antlers grew from his head, perfectly white. They were draped with ivy and strings of small, colourful beads, much like the ones on the ceremonial robes Kuroo’s grandfather always wore. Tooru himself wore flowing white and green robes, edged with gold. The aura of self-assured confidence and arrogance about him was almost suffocating. He was the most worshipped spirit, the patron of the harvest, the daylight, the hunt, of the fertile season and everything “good”. What made Kuroo uneasy was the other side to him, his other face. Tooru was the most two-faced of them all: he could bring disease as easily as he could bring harvest so bountiful that the coffers overflowed, he caused hunting accidents when his sacrifices weren’t satisfactory and put the guards to sleep to allow an ambush. Tooru was the one Kuroo should be most careful of.

 

‘Crossing the boundary unsummoned, bringing no sacrifice but yourself, desecrating holy ground… Kuroo Tetsurou you have my _undivided_ attention.’ Tooru crossed his arms and looked down at him with his eyebrows raised. When Kuroo remained silent, Tooru pulled a face. ‘And do speak with me like a man.’ Tooru waved his hand, and the weight on Kuroo’s legs lifted, and he forced himself to stand up. He felt unsteady on his feet. For a moment, there was something like approval on Tooru’s face.

 

‘Why did you come here, Kuroo?’ The voice was soft, and gentle, speaking in a tone one might use to coax a scared child. Kuroo felt much like a child, standing in Their presence. Shimizu - because it was her who had spoken - stood at Tooru’s right hand. She was beautiful… _very_ beautiful with her straight, jet black hair. Her robes were flowing and snow white, decorated with black and silver fabric. Koushi perched on her shoulder, resting his beak against her cheek. Shimizu was the goddess of winter, of the cycle of life, of marriage and knowledge. She was the patron of young parents and people mourning their spouses. She was more of a seasonal god: people prayed to her and offered sacrifices in winter, hoping to get in her good graces and gain a mild snow season. They praised her and drank to her name at the birth of a new child, at wedding feasts. Other times, she was pushed aside into the shadows, but she always took it silently, did not punish like Tooru did, knowing that with the turn of the year, her time will come again.

 

‘I…’ Kuroo found his throat dry, stopped, and tried again. Something told him that, being the god of knowledge and secrets, Shimizu knew exactly why he’d come here - Koushi was perched on her shoulder, too - and was only curious to see how truthful he would be. ‘Over a year ago, my friend was offered to you as a blood sacrifice. The people hoped it would convince you to lift the disease ravaging our village.’ It was difficult to speak of it calmly, not raise his voice at them like he’d done with Koushi, knowing _they_ were the reason why Kenma had been prematurely taken from him. ‘I left soon after, heading south for training. I have returned to take over my grandfather’s role as the leader of our community. I dreamt of this forest, and woke with an amulet that had belonged to my friend in my hand.’

 

‘The chieftain’s son, well I’ll be damned…’ Kuroo did not even have to look to see where the whisper had come from, but he did so anyway.

 

To Tooru’s left stood Koutarou, one arm draped over Tooru’s shoulder with a relaxed, friendly ease that Kuroo refused to believe was genuine. If not for his part in the Triumvirate, Koutarou would have been considered a lesser god. He didn’t dress in flowing robes like his companion, but riding pants, boots and a shirt that looked very much like something Kuroo would’ve worn to a festival in the human world. A short, white cloak was draped over his shoulders and arms, edged with gold, but other than that, Koutarou looked like a wealthy human merchant or perhaps an aristocrat. His eyes were big, and gold, and almost owl-like, which, when paired with the strong, silver and black wings sprouting from Koutarou’s back, explained why he was often portrayed as a horned owl on religious frescoes. Koutarou grinned at him, and Kuroo found himself unsettled, despite having once felt the most connection to this particular god. Koutarou was the god of mischief, travel, thieves, trade, luck, mystery and adventure, yet also of religion, dreams and revenge. He was the most moody of the three, and his swinging emotions accounted for the sudden and sharp turns of luck.

 

‘A dream and an amulet,’ Shimizu continued to speak softly, slowly, as if Kuroo was a spooked horse. ‘It seems a bit foolish to commit such crimes over such trivial things.’

 

Kuroo swallowed. ‘I know.’

 

There was something like disapproval from both Shimizu and Tooru, but then Koutarou spoke again, having caught and held Kuroo’s gaze. ‘You believe that Kenma…’ Again, anger at the sound of Kenma’s name welled in Kuroo’s chest, but he willed it down, sure that an outburst now would lessen his already slim chances of a painless death. ‘You believe that he’s alive and well in our realm?’

 

‘I don’t believe Koushi…’ Kuroo tore away from Koutarou’s stare to glance at the white crow, now nestled into the crook of Shimizu’s neck, his head tucked under a wing, asleep. ‘Could have gotten a hold of the amulet and brought it to me otherwise. It was around Kenma’s neck when you took him.’

 

Kuroo opened his mouth to speak, but Tooru cut him off. ‘And if your friend was here, what would you want with him?’

 

‘Think about it carefully, don’t answer now.’ Koutarou had attempted to speak, but yet again he was cut off, this time by Shimizu. He shut his mouth and pulled a face. If his life wasn’t on the line, Kuroo might have laughed. ‘You have until sundown.’

 

With that, the Triumvirate disappeared, with only the feeling of Tooru’s ice cold gaze on Kuroo’s face remaining. Kuroo blinked into the suddenly empty room, and allowed himself to feel a little relieved. He had survived a face to face encounter with the Triumvirate - no other mortal could say the same. It might be too early to say so, but he was safe… until sundown.

 

Unlike when Koushi had swooped down onto a conveniently present table, Kuroo’s ethereal prison was once more, a simple, flat marble floor. He had nothing to do but think over the question Tooru had asked him, and Shimizu had warned him about. He strolled around the square room, counting the steps - twenty-five each way - and thought. He sat and thought. He rolled around ungracefully on the cool marble and thought. After what felt like roughly two hours but could have been either much more or much less than that, a bowl of peaches appeared at his side, fragrant and ripe. He thought as he ate them, too.

 

Shimizu’s gracious warning might have just about saved his life. He had been about to run headlong into a trap. Gods were cunning and unwilling to part with their treasures. Kuroo didn’t think that a blood sacrifice might be much of a ‘treasure’ as much as the act of losing to a mortal would be a slight to their pride. Kuroo could think of four possible answers to Tooru’s questions, and all of them came with a risk factor that his words will be twisted in the gods’ favour…

 

One: “I want Kenma, _all_ of him.” Kuroo could see that ending with Kenma being, in fact, returned to him, but not as a whole… just a pile of gruesome pieces, or simply a corpse. Kuroo shuddered at the thought.

 

Two: “I want my friend back.” Kuroo discarded this option as soon as it crossed his mind. It was too vague. Chances were he would wake up with a friend he did not know he’d lost by his side. He could not afford to be unspecific where the gods were concerned, and where _he_ was the one defending.

 

Three: “I want things to be just the way they were, before _Calan Mai_.” Kuroo let out a bitter laugh. This would be most pleasing to the gods - a cruel, painful outcome. Kuroo would wake on the day before Calan Mai, Kenma’s head on his chest, his arm around his waist. The sun would stream in through the windows and turn Kenma’s eyes to molten gold as he stirred and eventually smiled at Kuroo. Then, everything would progress just as it had before - Kuroo wouldn’t be able to stop Kenma from his fate.

 

Four: “I want Kenma to live.” Kuroo was willing to bet ten gold pieces that Kenma would end up alive, but _he_ would not live to see it. Yes, the gods would lose their prize, but instead of losing it _and_ the challenger, they would have simply exchanged one life under their control for another. A shiver ran up Kuroo’s spine. This would be his last resort. If things didn’t work out, he would bargain his own life - or eternal torture, whichever the gods wanted for him - in exchange for Kenma’s life.

 

The Triumvirate appeared just as Kuroo finished the last peach, and he felt hot panic sear through his bones as he, once more, fell to his knees under the pressure of their magic. The magic lifted faster than the first time and Kuroo rose. This time, Shimizu did not have Koushi on her shoulder, but a young, bright orange bird that bounced on her shoulder and chirped in her ear. Kuroo took a deep breath: he was not ready.

 

‘It is sundown,’ Shimizu said, giving the little bird’s feathers a ruffle. She glanced around, as the light had not dimmed in Kuroo’s prison. ‘In the mortal realm.’ She added, by way of explanation. Kuroo couldn’t have cared less about how the prison managed to avoid the laws of day and night, as the decisive moment ticked closer and closer.

 

‘Well, what answer do you have for me?’ Tooru looked him up and down. ‘What do you want from your friend, should he be found in our realm?’ Beside him, Koutarou stood straighter, anticipating Kuroo’s answer. Kuroo couldn’t be sure if he was waiting for the grand finale should Kuroo give the wrong answer, or if he was genuinely worried for him. It was probably the grand finale.

 

‘I..’ Kuroo’s mind filled with a thick fog. He fought against it, casting a suspicious glare at Koutarou, who seemed to be extremely focused on him. ‘I want Kenma. I want his mind, I want his heart, I want his soul, returned to me.’ He blurted, not sure where the answer had come from, and counted out his requirements on the fingers of one hand. As soon as he finished speaking, the fog in his mind dispersed. Shimizu nodded her approval, and the little bird chirped what sounded like a cheer. Koutarou let out a breath and resumed his relaxed stance, one arm around Tooru’s shoulders.

 

‘His mind, his heart, his soul.’ Tooru echoed, as if in disbelief, and Kuroo nodded. He had not prepared that answer, it had come to him in the heat of the moment, but he was going to stick to it. For the first time since he’d met him, Tooru smiled, and Kuroo saw genuine approval in his eyes. ‘Smart answer. You have passed the first test. Your friend will be returned to you; his mind, his heart, his soul, all that you have asked for.’ Tooru paused, and Kuroo raised an eyebrow. It seemed too simple.. ‘But first, you must complete _our_ requirements. You will have three trials. One for each thing you have requested of us. If you succeed, you will be reunited with your friend.’ Kuroo sighed. He’d thought it was over too soon.

 

As the Triumvirate faded into the light, Kuroo swore he saw Koutarou wink at him. Tooru swatted at him with his hand, making Koutarou laugh - a booming sound unlike any other laugh Kuroo had heard before - and playfully attack him. After that, they were gone, and Kuroo was left alone in the dancing light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kenma turning to dust scene was written before I watched _Infinity War_ but now that that resemblance is in my head it's hard to resist slipping in a “Kuro.. I don't feel so good.”


	3. It has no life to live or die..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep feeling as if there's something OFF about this chapter, even though I've revised it 90 times. Here it is, nonetheless.
> 
> The next update will come _considerably_ later than this one, as I am going on holiday and won't have access to internet. I could rush to post the next chapter but that one has a far worse cliffhanger so I decided to instead leave y'all on this (milder) one.

A soft meowing brought Kuroo out of his dreamless sleep. He did not remember falling asleep, but he woke on a bed of colourful pillows, almost drowning under an enormous blanket. He propped himself up on one elbow, eyes adjusting to the light, and came face to face with a small, calico kitten. It lay near his head, tiny in comparison to the huge pillow.

 

‘Hello, little guy,’ Kuroo reached out to pet it, and the cat allowed it. ‘Do you talk, or are you just a normal cat?’

 

The kitten gave a little mewl, which Kuroo took as a  _ yes, I’m a perfectly normal cat, that has found itself in the spirit realm for some odd reason, and I’m most likely going to be taken from you in the most painful way imaginable _ . Kuroo sighed, feeling a little idiotic for talking to a cat, and scooped the kitten up. It nestled against his chest, purring in content. It was warm, and it’s fur was very, very soft.

 

Food - mortal food; toast and egg and a mug of sweet tea - appeared at Kuroo’s side not long after. He had lost all track of time, he could have slept for hours, days, or even years, but he was still famished. Food had never tasted better, not even after a two-month-long trek to the south. As he ate, he looked around his prison - if prisons were half in the mortal world and half in the spirit realm. 

 

The floor was still the same marble tiling, but the cushions made it more comfortable to sit on. The floor ended suddenly, and when Kuroo walked over and attempted to reach out past it’s edge, he found an invisible barrier between him and the dancing colors.

 

He could do nothing else but wait for his first trial. There were no books, no paper or pen, absolutely nothing to take up his time. Perhaps it was difficult for magic-wielders to even imagine boredom, or perhaps the spirits hadn’t cared about his comfort  _ that _ much.

 

Kuroo stretched out on the pillows and watched as the kitten ambled over to him, unsteady on it’s little legs on the perfectly smooth, slippery floor. He found himself talking to it with the same ease he would have talked to Kenma, before everything went to shit.

 

‘Do you know why I’m here?’ Kuroo asked it, after a beat of silence. He gently booped it’s little pink nose with his finger, and it glared up at him, with all the disapproval a tiny kitten could muster. It made him laugh, and he found that his laughter was loud in the silence of his new home. ‘I don’t think you do. I’m here, because the love of my life is here. And I’m going to take him back home.’ Kuroo frowned. Was he being too confident? The kitten looked vaguely interested. ‘It’s been a little over a year since I saw him last.’ Kuroo lay his head down on the pillows, and tried to conjure up Kenma’s face in his mind. It hurt, deep in his chest, when he realized the only image he could make himself recall was the Kenma that had turned to fine gold dust in front of his eyes. ‘I wonder how he is. I wonder if he remembers me.’ The kitten gave his hand a little lick, as if trying to be comforting. Kuroo smiled, and pet it’s chin, trying his best to fight down the bitter words welling in his chest.

 

Kuroo was beginning to doze off, tired from the sheer boredom of sitting around doing nothing with only a tiny kitten for company, when Koushi appeared in a cloud of white feather. The kitten jumped a foot in the air and ran away, hissing, at the sight of him. There was something like the human emotion of curiosity in the way Koushi tilted his head, peering at the tiny tail that peeked out from behind a cushion as the kitten hid, trembling all over.

 

‘What is it?’ Kuroo was tired. The constant light made his eyes hurt, and his chest ached whenever his thoughts strayed to the family and life he’d left behind. The constant stress over his tasks did not help, either. He was beyond manners, especially for a tattle-tale white crow.

 

‘It’s time for your first trial, Tetsurou.’ If Koushi noticed the lapse in manners, he graciously ignored it. Kuroo winced at the sound of his given name, but obediently got to his feet without a comment. Koushi took off and caught the edge of Kuroo’s sleeve in his claws.

 

Even though it was the second time travelling in this way, disappearing and reappearing in a burst of light and white feather still made Kuroo’s head spin. He instinctively shielded his eyes from the light.

 

When he dropped his hand, he found that he was no longer in an ethereal space like his prison. Above him was the sky, a beautiful deep blue like on a summer day. Kuroo was standing in the middle of a semicircle arena, which looked very much like one of the sports arenas of the south with its jury and viewing stands. The stands were filled to the brim with lesser spirits. Some of them Kuroo recognized from religious arts - like Koushi and the little orange bird were to Shimizu, the spirits were members of the High Spirit’s retinues or courts. He could hear them talk, an excited hum in the still summer air. 

 

Where the jury would have sat at a sports arena, there sat the High Spirits - all seven of them - dressed in the finest clothes Kuroo had seen in his life. He could feel the weight of their magic on his shoulders, but it was not enough to bring him to his knees, not yet. 

 

Tooru sat front and center, his antlers dripping in gold. He drank deep from a goblet, eyes watching Kuroo’s every move. 

 

Shimizu sat to Tooru’s left, and Kuroo watched as Koushi soared over to her. Before his claws touched the stone arm of Shimizu’s throne, Koushi turned into his human form in a burst of white feather. He was a beautiful, silver haired young man, dressed head to toe in white. He took his place beside Shimizu, next to who Kuroo assumed was the little bird from before; a young boy with a shock of orange hair. Further to Tooru’s left, beyond Shimizu, there sat the stone-faced twin gods, Takanobu and Wakatoshi, watching Kuroo keenly. 

 

To Tooru’s right there was Koutarou, fidgeting in his seat, attempting to arrange his wings comfortably against the straight back of his throne. Beside him was Suguru, his eyes narrowed as he stared Kuroo down, reminding him of a snake preparing for an attack. Yuuji, sat to Suguru’s left, glowed like the sun and chatted animatedly in his unwilling neighbor’s ear.

 

Under the force of Suguru’s gaze, the magic bearing down on Kuroo’s shoulders doubled in force, and as the lesser spirits fell silent, Kuroo had to fight the voice in his head yelling at him to plaster himself face down on the stone. Instead, he sank to one knee and inclined his head in a gesture respect. Suguru hissed in disapproval, but Kuroo heard Koutarou and Yuuji snicker. When the magic receded and Kuroo rose, there was pure hatred on Suguru’s snake-like face, but Koutarou and Yuuji looked delighted. The red headed boy, on the other hand, stared at Kuroo as if he was his hero.

 

Tooru stood up in one fluid motion, and everything grew perfectly silent. Even the breeze, which had previously ruffled Kuroo’s hair, stopped dead in its tracks. The entire world stopped and waited, tense, for the First of the Triumvirate to speak.

 

‘This mortal has challenged us,’ Tooru announced, and even though Kuroo was sure every last one of the gathered spirits had already known that, a murmur ran through the crowd. ‘He has bet his life in exchange for the return of his lover.’ Kuroo’s eye twitched. Betting his life was a formality he had not done, but these things were predictable when dealing with someone like Tooru - if Tooru could be considered a  _ someone _ . ‘He will face three trials, according to the mortal laws of justice. One trial for his lover’s  _ heart _ , one trial for his lover’s  _ mind _ , and one trial for his lover’s  _ soul _ . Should he lose one, he loses them all.’ That too, hadn’t been agreed, but Kuroo assumed it was for the better: he couldn’t bear to see Kenma incomplete: dead, a walking shell, or soulless, and know it was because he had failed. ‘Should he win, however, then he will be reunited with his lover.’

 

Tooru sat down, satisfied with the effect his words had on the gathered spirits, and motioned for Shimizu. She stood, her robes shimmering like liquid starlight, and levelled Kuroo with a cool look. She didn’t spare the other spirits, or Tooru, for that matter, a single look. Her voice was quiet, just like it had been when they first met, but still carried perfectly across the arena. Kuroo assumed it was by way of magic, and didn’t chase the thought further.

 

‘Your first trial,’ Shimizu said, ‘is a riddle. Listen closely, you will only be allowed to hear it once.’

 

Kuroo leaned forward a little, and focused as hard as he could, fully aware that success or failure hinged on his ability to hear the riddle correctly. He only hoped it was in a language he understood.

 

_ It has no legs to dance,  _

_ it has no lungs to breathe,  _

_ it has no life to live or die,  _

_ and yet it does all three. _

 

Kuroo’s heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach as a first reaction. His mind was blank, and he didn’t even know when to start. Koushi, leaning against Shimizu’s throne, was smiling as if he knew something Kuroo did not - Kuroo resisted the urge to glare at him. Instead, he looked at the other spirits for reactions, as if that could help him. Shimizu knew, Koushi most likely knew… the orange haired boy looked thoroughly baffled… Wakatoshi and Takanobu were as stone faced as always… Tooru was smiling at him, full of arrogance, but Kuroo doubted he knew… Yuuji and Koutarou were chattering excitedly behind Suguru’s back, most likely discussing the answer. And Suguru… Suguru rose, and his two neighbors froze mid-word. 

 

‘Of course,’ even Suguru’s tone was unpleasant when he addressed Kuroo from the dais. ‘it would not be a trial if you were allowed to simply enjoy our food and luxuries as you pondered the answer for centuries, mortal.’ Suguru snapped his fingers, and the floor under Kuroo’s feet trembled. ‘I’d start walking, if I were you, while you still can.’

 

The stone tile under Kuroo’s feet began to drop, and Kuroo stepped off of it. Hot lava filled the spot where the tile had been, sending a little fountain of sparks up into the air. The tile that Kuroo had stepped onto began to drop also, and he felt panic began to well in his chest. By staying too long in one spot, he risked being cooked, so he began to walk, briskly at first, then more slowly, matching his pace to the speed at which the panes sank and reappeared, around the arena.

 

Suguru’s cryptic “while you still can” crossed Kuroo’s mind, and he risked a glance up at Koutarou, and saw that the owlish spirit looked as uncomfortable as a being of his beauty and power could look. His wings were tucked in around him, instead of puffed out proudly on display. When Koutarou caught his eye, he looked down pointedly at his own hands and feet. Tooru smacked him on the hand, gently, but strong enough to make a point.

 

Kuroo tripped over something and hurriedly returned his gaze to his feet. His heart stopped in his chest. His feet felt unnaturally heavy, and for a good reason. All the way from his toes to his ankle, his boots were gray, and when he hopped about on one foot to inspect it, he found that the tips of his fingers were the same color.

 

Realization struck him like a lightning bolt, and his thoughts came a hundred a minute. His feet were stone, his  _ hands _ were turning to stone. It would get increasingly harder and harder to keep walking on the sinking panes as he got heavier - and eventually lost movement. With effort, he tore his eyes away from watching the stone creep higher and higher on his fingers, threw one spiteful look at the Triumvirate, and resumed his even pacing. He’d wasted quite a bit of breath hopping about like a crazed rabbit, so he tried to even his breathing. Panicking was not going to help him now.

 

Obviously the spirits expected him to panic or start thrashing about like a caged animal, because a disappointed murmur ran over the stands. Kuroo ignored it and kept walking, tearing the riddle apart in his head.

 

_ It has no legs to dance _ . Earthworms, fish, the fantastical  _ kyo’rae _ with the head of a stag on a snake’s body…? It was difficult to think of things without legs, especially as his own were turning to stone with every second that passed. Kuroo cursed, as an almost-forgotten injury to his knee began to ache again.  _ Now is not the time _ .

 

_ It has no lungs to breathe. _ It was not a living thing. It couldn’t be: Kuroo realized with a sinking feeling that he’d wasted time. The rhyme could not be taken apart, it had to be seen as a whole. He cursed, earning himself a delighted murmur from the crowd, and continued walking. 

 

‘It has no legs to dance, it has no lungs to breathe, it has no life to live or die, and yet it does all three. What the fu—’ Kuroo’s moms would have been on him in an instant if he’d cursed in their vicinity. But they were not here now, not when he needed them most. ‘ _ What the fuck. _ ’

 

Kuroo couldn’t feel his arms anymore, so he let them hang by his sides. Every so often, the stone that was once his hand would strike his thigh as he walked, a painful reminded that he was running out of time. He continued walking in circles around the perimeter of the arena, crossing to the other side when he started to get dizzy, racking his brain in search of an answer.

 

Hours passed, and lifting his legs became a problem. Now, he could barely clear the tile before it dropped into the lava - several times too many he’d felt a spark land on his clothes, and the smell of burning cloth wafted to his nose. Kuroo was beginning to panic, faced with a riddle he didn’t know the answer to, with death breathing down his neck with every step he took. 

 

Stone creeped up his thighs, locked them in place, and Kuroo felt terrified tears spring to his eyes. The memory of Kenma jumped to the front of his mind: Kenma’s shy smile, the blush on his cheeks reaching all the way up to his ears… Kuroo summoned the last of his energy and hopped on both feet, praying he wouldn’t lose his balance.

 

Stone locked his waist in place, and Kuroo could only shuffle ahead. And shuffle he did, the horrible grating sound of stone on stone echoing through the deadly silent stands. He refused to stand still and give up. 

 

His body failed him, his mind failed him. He couldn’t think about anything else than how he barely managed to shuffle onto the next tile before the previous dissolved in a spray of lava. And eventually, he was too slow even for that. Just as he braced for the end of it all, a single thought, bright and clear like a golden arrow, broke through the dark clouds of panic in his head.

 

‘I have the answer!’ Kuroo yelled, turning his head toward the stands. The stone, already creeping up to his jaw, protested at the movement, but allowed it. As soon as the words left his mouth, Yuuji threw out his hand. Both the tile and the stone stopped moving, and Kuroo allowed himself to breathe a little easier. He was safe, if just for a moment.

 

Shimizu rose slowly, and the little blond girl that had been chattering to her darted away. The orange haired boy made room for her beside him, and the two of them whispered animatedly about something. Tooru lifted his head from his goblet and met Kuroo’s eyes with the same, calculating stare as always.

 

‘“It has no legs to dance, it has no lungs to breathe, it has no life to live or die, and yet it does all three.” What is the answer?’ 

 

Kuroo had never heard silence like the one that settled over the arena when Shimizu finished asking the question. Koutarou leaned forward in his seat, his knuckles white with the grip he had on the arms of his throne. Kuroo closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

 

‘Fire,’ he said. ‘The answer is fire. Flames dance, even though they have no legs. Fire doesn’t have lungs, yet it needs air to breathe and live. Fire doesn’t have a life, but it can die.’

 

He wasn’t sure how he’d come up with that answer. It had struck him at the last possible moment, and he’d clung to it like a drowning man. Tooru rose, and began to clap, slowly. Once, twice, thrice. ‘You have surprised me, Tetsurou,’ he said, sounding not entirely pleased, but not livid - like Suguru, who was silently seething between Koutarou and Yuuji. ‘That is the correct answer. You have passed the first trial. Two more remain.’

 

The reaction among the spirits was divided. A mixture of cheers and disappointed exclamations reached Kuroo’s ears, but he couldn’t care less. He’d made it. His hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his body ached, utterly exhausted, still frozen as stone. But he’d made it: he hadn’t failed Kenma yet, there was still hope.

 

Tooru gave him one last look and disappeared in a flash of light, and similar flashes began to appear among the lesser spirits as members of his retinue hurried to wherever he’d gone. Shimizu inclined her head toward Kuroo and also turned to leave, but Koutarou swooped down into the arena beside Kuroo, powerful wings carrying him with effortless grace. Koutarou landed with a less-than-elegant thud a few steps away from Kuroo, and gathered himself up from the stone. He brushed off his clothes in a surprisingly human gesture, and approached Kuroo on foot.

 

‘You had me on the edge of my seat!’ Koutarou exclaimed, and clapped what would have been Kuroo’s shoulder. His hand made contact with stone and he frowned, quickly withdrawing it as if Kuroo’s current condition was contagious. Kuroo wondered if it was. ‘Anyway, how did you figure it out?’ 

 

Kuroo looked at Koutarou blankly, taken aback by the question. Koutarou just ruffled his wings and looked back at him. Closer up, he was very handsome, but not in the way that Tooru was. Tooru’s features were elegant, as if measured to perfection, but Koutarou’s smile was lopsided, and his nose bent a little to the left. It was an imperfect, human kind of beauty that made Kuroo wonder who he really was.

 

‘I’ll tell you in exchange for a favor,’ Kuroo blurted. Bartering with one of the Triumvirate was hardly a good idea, especially in his current half-statue state, but he could not let the opportunity pass. Koutarou had worried for him throughout the task, and hadn’t forced Kuroo to bow before him - he was the most approachable of them all.

 

Koutarou let out a laugh - which was even more brilliant in close quarters - and clapped Kuroo on the back in another surprisingly human gesture. His fist thudded dully against the stone, but this time, it did not deter him. Kuroo frowned as he swayed a little on his stone feet from the impact.

 

‘Cheeky,’ Koutarou remarked, but his golden eyes were friendly. He tilted his head to one side, as if considering, then nodded, slowly. ‘Deal.’

 

Kuroo swallowed - he had expected his offer to be rejected, not accepted. He didn’t have an answer, he didn’t  _ know _ how he’d stumbled onto the fact that the answer to the riddle was fire. It had come to him in the heat of the moment, when he was almost being finely toasted bordering on burned.

 

‘I didn’t know the answer,’ Kuroo thought that he should’ve waited until he was at least able to move before taking risky steps like these. ‘I was panicking all the way through, with every step. And then just as my foot was going to go into the fire, it came to me.’

 

A strange expression - one Kuroo couldn’t quite place - passed over Koutarou’s face. Something dark appeared in his eyes, and sent dread rolling in Kuroo’s gut, but Koutarou blinked, and his smile was back, the same as it ever was.

 

‘Well,’ Koutarou said, cheerily. ‘Not what I was expecting, but a deal’s a deal-’

 

Koutarou opened his mouth to say something else, but there was a loud, whooshing sound and a violent wind picked up. Kuroo swayed on his stone-locked feet, and Koutarou stretched out his wings to shield him from the rising wind - when Kuroo thought about it later, it had been a reflexive reaction. Koutarou didn’t even seem to know he’d done it, and it reminded Kuroo of stretching out one’s hand immediately to catch someone who is falling. 

 

The wind cut off abruptly, and Koutarou’s wing tucked itself back into place. Another winged young man had appeared, dark-haired and graceful. He landed near Koutarou, and said something to him in a language Kuroo couldn’t understand. Koutarou said something back in a worried tone, then looked to Kuroo, as if considering something. Kuroo raised an eyebrow, looking from one handsome spirit to the other. The new arrival didn’t even glance at him - at least not that Kuroo saw - and instead, kept his insistent gaze on Koutarou.

 

‘I’ve got to get going,’ Koutarou said, and clapped Kuroo one more time on the shoulder. ‘You hold on to that favor, you never know when it might come in handy.’

 

The unnamed man seemed surprised - if not disapproving - at the mention of a favor, but Koutarou took his hand in his, and they disappeared, leaving Kuroo swaying dangerously, still a half-finished statue. Before he could fall forward and break his face against the stone tiling, someone caught him and righted him again. Kuroo saw a spirit, dressed in gray, it’s hands hidden by long sleeves. They walked around him in circles, pouring small amounts of liquid from a vial onto the parts of him that had turned to stone. Slowly, feeling returned to his limbs. Then, with an itching sensation, the stone withdrew, washing off his body with the liquid. Kuroo stretched his legs, marvelling in the feeling, which he had not appreciated properly until he’d lost it. His knees cracked like dry twigs, and he swore he saw the spirit wince a little in sympathy.

 

The spirit stretched out it’s arm, and Kuroo obediently took its hand, still hidden under the sleeve. The world seemed to part around them, but before Kuroo could think twice about it, he was back in his new home. He hadn’t thought he would ever miss the confinement of it, but he was glad to see the marble floors and the strange, iridescent world, and the dozens of pillows. In the time he had been gone - or perhaps as soon as the spirits had realized he’d see another trial - someone had conjured up a bed, large and made of a pretty, dark wood, as well as a table laden with food. That someone had also left a little platter of food for the kitten, which was nowhere to be seen.

  
Kuroo sank onto his knees, and noticed, as if through a haze, the soft whoosh of wind as the faceless spirit returned wherever it had appeared from. Kuroo found that his hands were shaking, and he only wondered for a moment why, before the emotions that had been controlled and muted somewhere deep inside his chest throughout the trial, resurfaced violently. Black clouded his vision, as he recalled just how close he’d come to death.  _ Too close. Too close. Too close. _ The trial was almost impossible, and that was just the start.  _ I’m not going to make it, I’m not going to make it, I’m not going to- _


	4. Oh my love, guide my heart...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from vacation! There was Internet, but it was so weak that I couldn't even load the Google homepage. That, in my opinion, is worse than no Internet.
> 
> Here is the next part of Kuroo's adventures in another realm, and I hope you enjoy.

Kuroo didn’t know how long he’d spent lying on the marble floor, shaking and blind, unable to make his body move or form a coherent thought. Something soft nudged his hand, gently, then more insistently. The haze didn’t clear completely, but this reminder that there was something  _ beyond _ the ringing in his ears, allowed him to lift his hand with some effort, and investigate. Something wet and coarse touched his palm, and his fingers met a pair of fluffy, floppy ears. The kitten.

 

Kuroo’s hand fell to the marble when the kitten moved away, gently poking at Kuroo’s face with it’s nose, inquisitive. Kuroo smiled when it’s long whiskers tickled his face, and the haze on his eyes began to clear. He blinked the last remnants away, and the kitten gave a little mrowl. He felt like he could breathe again:  _ in… out… in… out… _ he was fine, he was able to fight another day.

 

When Kuroo stood up, his legs still felt weak, and there was a dull throbbing at the back of his head. The kitten trotted a few steps ahead, then came back for him, very obviously leading him toward the table, filled with steaming food. Kuroo indulged it, and slid into the cushioned seat at the head of the table. It was heaven for his aching muscles.

 

Looking at the food laid out in front of him, Kuroo wondered about his family. If his internal clock was right, they should be eating dinner right about now. What were they doing? Had they found his cloak yet? Or did they think he’d just gotten up and left in the middle of the night? Were his moms sitting alone in their dark kitchen, eating a lonely dinner by candlelight, mourning his loss? Or was the whole family there, eating dinner while hastily drawing up posters, like they had when the family dog had gone missing? Kuroo liked to think he was more important to them than the dog.

 

The food he’d swallowed stopped in his throat at the thought of his family, but Kuroo forced it down. The only way he could help his family was if he survived the next two trials. And he couldn’t do that on an empty stomach. He tried to eat in moderation, wary of the tasks that laid ahead, but even the food that he  _ did _ eat was unlike anything he’d ever tasted. His family was not poor, and all the ingredients they had were homegrown, but it was not the same as the feast that had been prepared. 

 

Eventually, sore and exhausted, Kuroo crawled onto the bed. This too, was unlike any comfort he’d experienced at home. The mattress and pillows shaped themselves to fit the curves of his back, giving the ideal amount of support and softness… Kuroo felt like he was lying on thin air. The kitten, which had finished it’s platter, clambered onto the bed beside him, and curled up on his chest, tucking its tail neatly against its body.

 

‘I made it,’ Kuroo said with a soft smile, petting the soft fur on the kitten’s chin. It mewled, as if agreeing with him, and Kuroo drifted off to sleep.

 

Kuroo woke with the intense feeling of being watched. The kitten was still a comforting weight on his chest, and he cracked open an eye. Sight blurry with sleep, he saw a humanoid shape, and opened his other eye, blinking sleep away.

 

Kuroo frowned when Koutarou came into focus, perched on the table with his feet on a chair. Koutarou tilted his head innocently, as if wondering if he was the cause for Kuroo’s foul expression. His winged companion from before sat on a cushion, thumbing through one of the books that had been left for Kuroo the night before. As if sensing that Kuroo woke, the kitten lifted it’s head, tried to stand up, and promptly tumbled off of Kuroo’s chest. He steadied it with his hand as he sat up, wincing at the pain in his back.

 

‘Want some?’ Koutarou extended half of a peach toward Kuroo, but he just shook his head. Koutarou shrugged and popped the fruit into his mouth, making a small happy noise. 

 

‘Your second trial is about to begin,’ Koutarou’s companion had set his book down and walked over to them, slowly. ‘It is best not to keep Them waiting.’

 

‘At least let the man have something to eat, Keiji,’ Koutarou said, through a mouthful of peach. His companion - Keiji, apparently - looked at Kuroo, then at the half-eaten breakfast on the table.

 

‘You’ve eaten most of his breakfast.’ Keiji said simply, but he relented and sat back down. The two spirits waited patiently and watched as Kuroo wolfed down what was left of his breakfast. Bokuto hadn’t eaten much - he’d chosen a few peaches, and some of the wine, which Kuroo had stayed clear of anyway. Kuroo couldn’t find it within himself to care.

 

When Koutarou and Keiji took his hands, Kuroo expected to be transported into the same arena as the day before. Instead, even before he could see, he felt his feet sink ankle deep into the earth. The stench that came after was unbearable, and Kuroo covered his face with his shirt. He stood in a river of mud, not quite flowing, but not quite still either. There were mud walls to his three sides, reaching high toward the cavern roof. In front of him, were marble steps, leading up to an elevated space where the High Spirits sat, as glorious and glowing as ever. Something told Kuroo that if he was expected to join them on the stone, Koutarou and Keiji would have stood him there, and not in the river, so he stayed put.

 

As Tooru watched him with an unreadable expression on his face, Kuroo let his eyes trail over the remaining spirits. Besides the ones he’d seen before, there were some newcomers. Standing beside Tooru, leaning casually on his throne, was a spirit with the outward appearance of a tanned, dark-haired young man. Tooru turned to say something to him, and the man leaned down to his level. They whispered for a moment, their heads close together, the image of comfortable intimacy. 

 

‘It is time for your second trial.’ Tooru turned away from his lover - Kuroo was now sure that was what they were: he hadn’t missed the way the man’s eyes lingered on Tooru’s lips, or the way all the tension seemed to ease from Tooru’s shoulders when he spoke to him - and returned his attention to Kuroo. ‘You have proven yourself in the realm of intellect: and have won yourself your friend’s mind. It is time to prove that you have the heart of a lion.’

 

Kuroo swallowed. He didn’t think himself exceptionally brave nor a coward, but the way Tooru said it, with that ill-boding look in his eyes, made him feel uneasy. He had complete right to be afraid, after what he’d survived the day before, but Kuroo refused to let it show. He steadied his shaking knees and shoved his fear into a distant corner in his mind.

 

‘What is my task?’

 

‘Within the maze, there is an object belonging to me,’ Tooru said, nodding toward the sprawling construction behind Kuroo’s back. Kuroo didn’t turn: he knew it was there, and he hoped to pick up any sort of clue from Tooru’s behavior. ‘Your task is to find it and return it to me.’

 

Koutarou looked alarmed, and turned to say something to Tooru, but the horned spirit simply shook his head, and Koutarou was forced to give up. His eyes met Kuroo’s, just for a moment, and Kuroo felt like he’d been apologized to. A little sliver of dread wrapped itself around it’s spine, but he obediently turned away to face his task.

 

Kuroo was good at mazes, at navigating his way through unfamiliar territory - growing up in a village surrounded by forest, you had to be good, or you’d get lost as soon as you stepped foot outside. But the forest floor wasn’t a running river of muck and didn’t stink like … Kuroo didn’t even know what to liken the stench to. He’d never had the displeasure to experience anything like it. He felt a gentle push of magic behind him, like someone was  _ shooing _ him away. Bracing himself against the current, he began to walk into the maze.

 

The smartest thing to do would be to mark his way, but he had nothing on his person that could help him, and as soon as he lifted his leg out of the current to take a step, the river snatched away his footprint, leaving no trace of his presence. The walls were no help either: they were all smooth, identical walls of brown mud. Kuroo would have to count on his memory to not lose his way.

 

He took a left, and found himself in front of a junction of three pathways. They were all identical, except for one, where he could see something white jutting out from among the mud. Curious, he made his way over, tired muscles already protesting at the physical strain. What he had seen was a simple, white marble stone, standing in the centre of a round room - a dead end. It was smooth, save for the engravings of the Triumvirate on its side. Kuroo ran his fingers along Koutarou’s extended wing, and watched the mud from his finger race down the side of the stone. Upon closer inspection, the stone was very simple, and decidedly not what Kuroo was looking for, and he trudged back to where he began.

 

Three left turns - it was easier to remember when you just went left - and what felt like years of trudging through squelching muck, Kuroo found himself looking at another dead end. This one, however, ticked all the boxes in his head, because there, right in front of him and sleeping around a pillar of white marble, was something long and lizard like. A mythical beast, the name of which Kuroo couldn’t quite remember. Atop the pillar, something glowed with faint white light - just like Tooru and his retinue did, whenever they used their magic. It seemed a fair guess that this would be the item he’d been sent to retrieve.

 

Kuroo winced with each step - the mud squelched and made other, varyingly disgusting sounds as he walked - and watched the creature’s heavy eyelid carefully. It didn’t budge, and, with it’s soft gray coloring, it looked as if it might’ve been a statue. He stood on it, slowly putting his weight onto it’s back, but it did not budge, and he could pull himself up onto the pillar to look.

 

Lying there, sparkling slightly in the white light, was a headdress. Two holes allowed room for Tooru’s antlers, and the entirety of it was dripping with white and glass beads, gold, and leaves. It was as if someone had taken Tooru’s entire  _ identity _ and molded it into a single headdress. Kuroo slipped his fingers up under it and picked it up - it was heavy, heavier than expected from what was essentially a glorified hat. He wondered, briefly, if Tooru would get offended if he were to put it on and parade it back through the maze.

 

Relief washed over him with the weight in his hands. He’d done it. He’d managed to find what Tooru had sent him in for, and was well on his way to finding Kenma himself. He landed in the mud with a squelch and a splash, holding the headdress aloft as not to get it dirty, and began to made his way out of the maze. That task was easier than he’d thought—

 

He only turned one right, before the headdress disappeared from his hands, stopping him dead in his tracks. It had, right before his eyes, dissolved into the same fine gold dust as Kenma had, when Kuroo had seen him on his first night in this realm. The same dust now coated Kuroo’s hands and fluttered softly down to rest on the mud - too beautiful for its setting, yet strangely fitting.

 

And then came the  _ sniffing _ .

 

Kuroo felt its eyes on him before he even turned and saw it. The creature, which had been peacefully sleeping - or dormant, or dead - around the pillar had come to life, and it was angry. Wenether it was angry with Kuroo for waking it or for stealing it’s quarry, or for rudely stepping on it, he didn’t know.  But he knew that there was nothing left to him but to run.

 

Walking in the mud was difficult. Running was impossible. But a heavy, blood-thirsty lizard breathing down your neck does wonders to what is possible and what is not. Kuroo skidded around a bend, all memory of his route forgotten, as was Tooru’s task.

 

The creature was fast - damn it, it was fast. For something so large, it moved with remarkable speed, and it took all of Kuroo’s strength to run fast enough to be out of it’s reach. Panic pounded in his chest as for the second time that week, he came close to death, only this time it wasn’t from below: it was from behind.

 

He ran past a stone pillar, barely glimpsing the item resting on top of it. A green tome, emitting the same white light. The lizard knocked it into the mud with a swipe of its clpaw a moment after Kuroo ran past, not giving him a chance to think if it was what Tooru was looking for or not.

 

He just needed a moment to think.

 

He was doing this for Kenma.

 

His legs hurt.

 

He wasn’t doing this for himself, he was doing it for  _ Kenma _ .

 

He stumbled and fell forward into the mud.

 

_ Kenma _ .

 

He scrambled onto his feet, and narrowly dodged a swipe from the lizard’s claw. He ran, taking random turns without thinking where they’d put him. He took a sharp right, praying it wasn’t a dead end.

 

It was a dead end.

 

He turned around, skidding in the mud, hoping to retrace his steps and find another route, but he was too slow. His way forward was blocked by the creature, all four of its claws set deep into the mud, head lowered, tail up, poised for attack. It’s yellow eyes focused on him as he shuffled backward until his back touched the wall.

 

_ Run _ . Just run when it jumps at you and pray you’re fast enough.

 

Kuroo saw the creature tense, saw it almost  _ smile _ in anticipation of a fine snack. Like a spring, the tension released, and the creature lurched forward, and he moved. He darted down the left side of the wall, and the creature’s jaws snapped shut too close for comfort. Seeing that it missed, the lizard swiped at him with its claw, an attack Kuroo was too slow to dodge.

 

The blunt force of it knocked the air out of his lungs and propelled him forward several feet, face-down into the mud. The searing pain in his back came after, and made stars dance in front of his eyes. Only adrenaline and instinct kept him from fainting, but he was still prone in the river of mud.

 

Seeing this, the creature, additionally enticed by the smell of blood, rushed towards him,  _ slobbering _ at the thought of a feast. Kuroo’s mind, badly shaken from the impact, only managed to think about how many others the Triumvirate had sent into this maze to get eaten, and if the object existed at all, before instinct kicked in. He scrambled to his knees, the mud keeping him from rising further, and seized something that had been sticking out of the mud by his feet. 

 

If he was going to die, he was going to die fighting.

 

The ground shook as the lizard bounded forward, and Kuroo’s grip on his makeshift weapon tightened. He felt it’s breath on his face, and braced for an attack.

 

None came.

 

Realizing he’d instinctually closed his eyes, and wondering if he was already dead, Kuroo cracked open an eye, just in time to see a pair of silver and black wings. Koutarou put himself between the creature and Kuroo, his godly power emanating from him in a golden light. He ran forward, and seized the lizard by the horn on top of its snout. Kuroo watched in amazement as all four of the beast’s claws rose up in the air, and flew across the dead-end corridor. Four golden arrows lodged in it’s back almost instantly. Before the creature had a chance to get up, Koutarou was on it again, determined to kill it.

 

‘For  _ fuck _ ’s sake, what are you waiting for?’ Keiji - who’d appeared somewhere above Kuroo’s head, armed with a quiver full of golden arrows - yelled, gesturing to the maze beyond them. ‘Get out of here!’

 

And Kuroo obeyed.

 

His legs carried him as far away as they could, before he collapsed against a stone pillar, breathing heavily. Somewhere in the maze, there was a shout, and a roar. Koutarou and Keiji were still occupied with the creature - Kuroo hadn’t stood a chance without their intervention. They’d saved his life and won him another shot at completing Tooru’s task - the task he was currently ignoring. He rubbed his temples and tried to recall Tooru’s words.

 

With some annoyance, he realized Tooru had been especially careful with his choice of words. There was absolutely nothing in his words that suggested what he might have been looking for - except that, if gods were to be trusted, it existed somewhere within the maze.

 

Kuroo looked down at his hands. His fingers still clutched the makeshift weapon he’d seized in a frail attempt to save his life. It was the hilt of a sword, beautifully engraved with a ruby nestled at the top of it. Gold, or something similar, badly in need of cleaning. There was no blade. Kuroo traced a finger over the engravings, wondering who it had belonged to, and how had they met their end in this maze of horrors. It was a feeble attempt at calming his heart, gathering his thoughts and thinking logically. It distracted him from the burning pain in his back.

 

The hilt gave a small shudder, and the ruby began to glow. Ribbons of golden light slipped out of it, weaving together and solidifying… the blade formed right in front of Kuroo’s eyes. Cautiously, he ran his finger along the blade - it was sharp, extremely so. It had been well taken care of before it was lost. It was unusually warm, too…

 

He turned the blade over, wanting to admire it’s other side, and his heart sped up. There, engraved along the blade, were running deer, facing toward the point of the blade. Each was a clearly a deer, but unique in its own right. The one at the front had softer, curlier looking fur. The second one was bigger, grumpy-looking. The third and fourth managed to look playful… Now that he was holding it, he was certain. He’d found Tooru’s item. The stag was the god’s symbol, and if the first deer was not his representation, then Kuroo’s name wasn’t Tetsurou.

 

Kuroo pulled himself to his feet, gritting his teeth at the pain in his back. The creature must have torn through his thin clothes, deep into his body. The maze was silent now, all evidence of Koutarou and Keiji gone, even when Kuroo - limping - retraced his steps past the dead-end corridor. The creature lay very still and very, very dead against the far wall. Kuroo swallowed, looking at the damage it had sustained, and the multitude of golden arrows that made it look like a needlemouse. He would not want to be on the wrong side of Koutarou and Keiji’s joint power - they were a perfect duo.

 

By the time Kuroo managed to find his way back to the Triumvirate and the other gods, he was exhausted. Every step pulled at the wounds on his back, and he couldn’t even lift the sword - which, with the blade intact, was quite heavy - so it trailed in the mud, it’s golden light obscured by the filth. He will never forget the look on some of the faces that welcomed him: surprise, betrayal, admiration. Every emotion was there, watching him stumble up onto the stone and sink to his feet. Tooru didn’t move, but his dark haired companion looked from him to Kuroo, and back again, obviously impressed. 

 

Kuroo sank to his knees, feet giving out on him from the effort. He stared Tooru dead in the eyes, ignoring Suguru’s jealous stare or the worrying emptiness of Koutarou’s throne, and, summoning all the energy he could manage, threw the sword. It sank deep into the wood, just above Tooru’s head. 

 

‘Here’s your  _ fucking _ sword.’

 

He smiled at the scandalized expression on Tooru’s face. 

 

Then he fainted.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last task! I feel like I went a bit wild with the trial here, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

The cushions had felt like heaven the previous night, but tonight they were even better, as Kuroo woke lying face first on them, smelling lavender and mint. He tried to prop himself up on his hands and get up, but a sharp pain in his back forced a cry from his lips. The kitten, which had been sleeping peacefully by his side, startled awake and ambled over to investigate. 

 

‘Hello, buddy,’ Kuroo winced with the effort as he lifted his hand to pet it. It purred in delight, and he smiled. He began to wonder what had transpired in the time he’d been unconscious. For a moment, he wished he’d kept it together long enough to hear Tooru’s reaction, but then decided that perhaps it was for the best: his fainting may have saved him from punishment for swearing at a god. His brain was too fuzzy to try and remember if that was one of the Codex Laws or not.

 

He was clean. His skin smelled of something citrus, and although the stench of the maze still lingered in his nose and at the edges of his consciousness, there was no dirt to be found. Nowhere where his eyes could see, at least, as he was stretched out on his stomach, something cool and wet on his back. 

 

There was a soft flash of light in Kuroo’s peripheral vision, and he craned his neck to look. The kitten peeked out curiously, and did not appear to be scared. It settled Kuroo’s worries, if just a little.

 

‘You’re awake.’ The voice wasn’t Koutarou, or Keiji, or Tooru. It wasn’t someone Kuroo had heard speak before, but the manner in which the person spoke was comradely. 

 

‘Who are you.’ Kuroo was beyond done with respect and pleasantries and whatever else he was supposed to give the gods. Not after facing death twice at their hands. As Tooru’s lover stepped into Kuroo’s field of view, he looked amused, rather than angry.

 

‘My name is Hajime. I see you’re feeling better.’ Careful. Controlled. Tooru’s lover was much like himself, but his eyes were warmer and Kuroo could feel the good intentions behind his caution. Nonetheless, where Hajime went, Tooru was sure to be close by.

 

‘Were you the one that did this?’ Kuroo gestured to the dressings on his back. It was awkward, since his arms could only bend so many ways. Hajime frowned as his eyes trailed over them, but he nodded. ‘Thank you.’ Kuroo said, sincerely. He wanted to say more, but there was a second light in the corner of Kuroo’s eyes, and both he and Hajime turned to look. He almost groaned.

 

It was Tooru. Although this time, he was not dressed in his fine robes. His horns weren’t dripping in gold, either. He wore a long, white shirt, so thin it was almost translucent, and white trousers. He was barefoot, which Kuroo found unusual. His horns were decorated with strings of white, glass beads. He looked almost youthful… as youthful as a millenia old god could get. He stopped by Hajime’s side, weaving their fingers together almost absentmindedly.

 

‘Does it hurt?’ Tooru asked.

 

‘ _ What? _ ’ Kuroo wheezed, taken aback by the question and the casual softness of Tooru’s tone.

 

‘Your back,’ Tooru met his eyes, gold meeting brown. ‘Does it hurt?’ Kuroo just glared at him, but his eyes did not miss the gentle nudge Hajime gave Tooru:  _ Play nice _ . It screamed familiarity, comfort. Two individuals completely at peace with one another. It reminded Kuroo of Kenma, and refuelled his determination to succeed at the last task… the last task that  _ Tooru _ , who was currently being  _ friendly _ with him, would set out the following day.

 

‘Tooru no longer has any say in the trials,’ Hajime said simply, reading Kuroo’s thoughts. ‘It was in his power to accept your challenge, and it is his job to announce them, but he does not choose them.’

 

Kuroo glanced at Tooru, who was playing with his long, thin fingers and avoiding his gaze. He too, must have shamelessly read Kuroo’s thoughts and  _ felt _ the extent of dislike he had for him. Kuroo was not surprised: this sort of power could only be expected of the gods, who listened to even silent prayer.

 

‘I brought something for your wounds,’ Tooru fished out a small vial of iridescent liquid from his pockets. Kuroo eyed it suspiciously. It danced and glowed like the light beyond the edges of his prison.

 

‘Why should I drink it?’

 

‘It will heal your wounds. You will feel better and be able to complete your last trial.’ Tooru knelt down on the floor beside Kuroo’s pillows, the small vial in his hand. The kitten did not shy away from the god’s proximity, but put itself as a tiny, fluffy barrier between Kuroo’s face and Tooru. 

 

‘And why do you care if I complete it or not?’ Kuroo asked, his mouth full of fur. He gently moved the kitten away, and Tooru came back into view. If he had looked young before, he looked boyish now, all big eyes and innocence. But Kuroo knew how two-faced boyish charm could be. Tooru seemed surprised by the question, and looked to Hajime for help.

 

‘We’ve gambled in your favour.’ Hajime admitted. ‘There is a lot to lose if you fail.’

 

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, amused by the thought that the gods were betting on him - and that they indulged in such a human past time as betting - and took the vial from Tooru’s hands, who looked relieved. 

 

‘Careful..’

 

The liquid burned when Kuroo swallowed it. Burned his lips, tongue, his throat.. His head began to swim, and he felt every muscle in his body relax. His head fell forward, neck too weak to support his heavy head. He felt the kitten scramble up to him and paw at his face, alarmed, and the murmured words:

 

‘Thank the Maker, I thought he was going to be difficult.’

 

When Kuroo awoke a second time, he rolled over onto his back and sat up without a single wince. Nothing hurt. He felt as light as a feather, as if he’d spent the day out in the fresh air, training in the southern temples, then had a hearty meal and a good night’s rest. The sensation had long become unfamiliar, and whenever he moved, he expected pain to follow.

 

The table was once more laden with fresh fruit, but Kuroo immediately noticed the absence of wine and other heavy foods, like meat or anything else that would make him drowsy. Someone had carefully laid out the meal in smaller portions, as if suggesting the amount that should be eaten among the overflowing splendor. 

 

Kuroo got up off the pillows and stretched. He could touch his toes. He could do many stretches he’d been taught but had not been able to do. Such was the power of a long, godly rest. The kitten followed him wherever he went, trotting after him when he walked, rubbing against his leg adoringly when he stood. He scooped it up between mouthfuls of pomegranate, and scratched it behind the ears.

 

‘I wish you were here, Kenma,’ he said, half to the kitten, half to the air. ‘You’d have loved this.’ Kuroo nudged a small slice of apple pie, hidden among lush leaves of an orange arrangement. He looked out into the dancing light, and smiled. Soon, they’d be together again. He missed Kenma with every fibre of his soul, and it hurt like hell.

 

One moment Kuroo was alone with the kitten, the next Hajime was standing in front of him, dressed in armor. Kuroo frowned, wondering if the god had heard him, but nothing about Hajime’s face let on that he did. Instead, he tapped his fingers on the polished chest plate and regarded Kuroo with a level stare.

 

‘It’s time,’ he said, and Kuroo felt his stomach drop. Hajime extended a hand toward him, but Kuroo didn’t take it immediately. He let it hang there, looking at it, understanding what it meant. Then, pressing a quick kiss to the kitten’s forehead, he took it, and allowed Hajime to pull him up.

 

‘Before we go,’ Kuroo said, just as Hajime was beginning to turn away. ‘I need to know something: what happened to Ko- to the two that helped me?’

 

Hajime’s jaw tensed, and something dark crept into his eyes. He blinked it away, but the tension remained in his voice. ‘Keiji was sent Under for interfering with the trials. Koutarou, because he is one of the Triumvirate, was put in stasis as a lesser punishment.’ 

 

Kuroo’s stomach sank further. He’d heard of Under: the supposedly mythical world, where you both existed and did not, all at once, a place of punishment and penance for gods, the ultimate death for humans. And all because he was born a helpless human that couldn’t outrun, outsmart or outfight a lizard, the executioner of the gods. He shuddered at the memory.

 

‘It’s why Tooru brought you that potion. It’s why you need to win this trial.’ Hajime gave Kuroo’s hand a firm squeeze. ‘Don’t make their pain be in vain, and get them out.’

 

Kuroo nodded, and Hajime took them to the final trial. 

 

‘It’s not just for Kenma, anymore.’ Hajime whispered before he let go of Kuroo’s hand, and his presence faded. 

 

This time, Kuroo was slow at opening his eyes. He inhaled deeply. Fresh air caressed his cheeks, tousled his hair. He could smell the forest, and the mountains - the human world. There was nothing disgusting or eerily perfect about this scent. It was home. He opened his eyes.

 

He was standing atop a stone platform, suspended high above the earth. He squinted against the sun: he could just barely make out his home village, the plumes of smoke rising up from the chimneys, as well as the stark white Altar among the foliage. To his left was the peak of the Deun-Roh, the region’s tallest mountain, and to his right were the High Gods. Immediately, he could feel the different air around them.

 

Tooru was sitting in Hajime’s lap, quite shamelessly, but Kuroo could see how he kept wringing his hands, not at all the composed god that Kuroo had challenged days prior. Hajime was rubbing soothing circles into his thighs with his thumbs, but Tooru still looked on the verge of pacing. He was not wearing his ceremonial robes this time either, but wore the same white ensemble from before, complete with the bare feet. Shimizu and her entourage of birds were exchanging hushed whispers, as the other gods gazed at Kuroo with varying levels of awe and curiosity. Koutarou and Keiji were nowhere to be found - Koutarou’s throne stood empty. Wakatoshi stood, very slowly, the great mountain of a god stretching to full height. A hush fell over the gathered spirits: only Koushi kept on chattering in Shimizu’s ear.

 

‘It is time.’ Wakatoshi’s voice was like thunder, rolling over the hills. ‘For your third and final task. If you win here, you will receive your reward on the terms of your challenge. If you fail, your challenge is over.’

 

‘Your task is this,’ Yuuiji spoke up, and Wakatoshi slowly sat back down; a man of a few words, he’d clearly asked the chatty Yuuiji to help him in the task. ‘You are familiar with the divinity cards, yes?’

 

He was. He’d studied them, and practiced with them many times. The divinity cards were often used to find out the gods’ will, and undoubtedly were used to decide on Kenma’s sacrifice. Kuroo had never felt drawn or connected to them, but he understood the basics of how they worked and could tell a basic fortune through them. 

 

‘I am,’ he said. ‘But if this is about cards, then why all this?’ He gestured to the mountain, the platforms suspended thousands of feet off the ground, the considerable drop to earth. Yuuji gave him an angelic smile.

 

‘It’s simple. If you fail, your family finds your body on a slope of a far off mountain, and think you died trying to climb it... _ duh _ .’

 

That sent nausea rolling in Kuroo’s gut. His family would never know what happened to him: after all, he’d just walked out of the house one morning, and now he’d turn up dead on the side of a mountain. His moms would never get closure. His grandfather would blame himself until he too, passed, and Kuroo could tell him. And Kenma.. Kenma would be stuck in the gods’ realm forever, and Kuroo would have failed just short of being able to kiss him again.

 

‘What is my task?’

 

He was really tired of this suspense.

 

Mercifully, the gods did not make him wait long. A small, velvet bag appeared in his hands. Kuroo frowned, thinking that surely, this was too easy after what he’d already gone through. He tugged it open, and took out the cards waiting for him inside. Their weight was familiar, and although the design on the jet black cards was different to what Kuroo was accustomed to, he recognized what they were immediately.

 

Cards of the Clairvoyant, or what they were colloquially called, Clairvoyants, were cards used to communicate with other planes of existence - mainly gods, but sometimes the fae folk as well - and to tell the future and fortune of human individuals. Kuroo had used them many times, and although they’d been part of his training, he’d never felt favour toward them: his grandfather had said that telling the future using Clairvoyants was a highly spiritual, emotional experience. To Kuroo, it was like reading a picture book: indifferent, and factual.

 

‘Do you know what these are?’ Tooru’s question was tentative, gentle.

 

‘Of course I do,’ Kuroo couldn’t stop the annoyance from his voice. Tooru flinched. ‘Clairvoyants.’

 

‘Cards of the Clairvoyant, our gift to humanity as a means of communication that was meant to be reserved to a select few, but you made them commonplace.’ Daishou appeared a few steps away from Kuroo. Only now Kuroo noticed the silver snake, wrapped around his arm and shoulders, seeming to whisper in his ear. ‘Your task is simple: tell my fortune.’

 

‘Tell  _ your _ fortune?’ Kuroo echoed, eyeing the snake cautiously. It seemed placid, but Kuroo had a few snake encounters in his childhood that left him with a severe distrust of their kind.

 

Daishou closed the gap between them in a few steps, and came so uncomfortably close Kuroo took a step back - and swayed on the edge. He threw his hands out in a feeble attempt to balance himself, but would have fallen if Daishou, of all people, hadn’t grabbed him by the front of his shirt and tugged him back. When Kuroo looked down at him, Daishou seemed somehow disappointed. He gestured for them to sit, and Kuroo sat, cross-legged. It was an uncomfortable position, and he was immediately reminded of the countless hours he’d spent sitting on a stone floor, reading the Clairvoyants until his legs were numb and his eyes wouldn’t stay open. Daishou was looking at him expectantly, so Kuroo shuffled the cards. 

 

Daishou had not offered any further explanation, and Kuroo could feel the eyes of the Triumvirate - minus Koutarou, which bothered him - and the other High Spirits on his hands. It seemed too easy and too complicated for the final trial for Kenma’s life, especially that Kuroo had the previous two - both of which he’d barely escaped with his life - to compare to. He began to wonder if there were more layers to this task aswell.

 

Having finished shuffling the cards, Kuroo held them between his palms, and raised them to his chest. He closed his eyes briefly and tried to focus on them, but the uneasy feeling in his gut would not go away. Summoning forward the memory of Kenma, he did his best to focus their joined energy on the cards, in an attempt to convince them to give him their knowledge… 

 

The cold, winter wind whipped around him as he stood on top of the mountain, holding Kenma’s mittened hand. They were both shivering as they looked out over the snowy valley and outward, towards the sea. Kuroo smiled to himself - he remembered this memory. A sudden gust of wind sent Kenma stumbling forwards, but Kuroo had a firm grip on his hand and pulled him back, looping an arm around his waist and propping his chin on his head for good measure.

 

‘It’s cold,’ said Kenma. Kuroo’s heart ached - it’s been so long since he’d heard Kenma’s voice, he wasn’t sure if he even remembered it correctly. He couldn’t be sure if he could recall Kenma’s voice or if his mind had taken a stranger’s voice and assigned it to him.

 

‘No shit,’ said the Kuroo from the memory. Kuroo felt Kenma’s elbow jab into his side, through the layers of leather and fur that he’d bundled himself into. What he had really wanted to say if he’d been given a choice was  _ I love you. I’m coming to you. We’ll be together _ , but the memory was not so benign. 

 

Disentangling himself from Kuroo’s embrace, Kenma led the way toward the top, and Kuroo obediently plodded after him. They’d travelled for several days to come here, and he could not wait to see the miracle of mother nature that was a smoking mountain in the middle of a blizzard.

 

Dream Kuroo walked right up to the edge of the crater, holding onto Kenma’s hand and a nearby, charred, tree for safety. He looked boldly down into the lake of fire below, and heard Kenma gasp in wonder, while Kuroo himself shuddered at the sight. The undersoles of his feet burned from an invisible fire, and the memory of his body slowly turning to stone created a queasy feeling in his stomach. Dream Kuroo leaned further, and Kuroo shied away from his own eyes, as if he were moving away from a picture.

 

‘It’s beautiful,’ Kenma said, quietly. ‘I want to paint it.’

 

‘It’s a pity we didn’t bring your paints,’ Kuroo heard himself say, and recalled with a smile the tiny, paint-splattered corner Kenma had in the loft above the family barn. His happy place. ‘You think you’ll remember it until we get back?’

 

Kenma smiled and gave him a look. Kuroo didn’t need words to understand what it said:  _ you don’t forget things as beautiful as this _ .

 

_ You don’t forget people with souls as beautiful as yours, either _ .

 

As soon as he’d thought that, the memory changed. The horizon wobbled and the lava below started bubbling with greater intensity. Suddenly in total control of his own body, Kuroo stumbled away from the crater, taking Kenma with him.  Nails dug into his hand, drawing blood. He look down, and saw that where Kenma’s hand had been, there was a claw. Charred and black, with long nails digging into Kuroo’s skin, his glove missing. Red dripped down onto the snow.

 

‘Kenma what the  _ fu _ -’ Kuroo looked up, and immediately wrenched his hand free. 

 

Kenma was still technically Kenma, but he was  _ wrong _ . His skin was a pasty white, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept or eaten in weaks. His eyes were dark: completely black, and on his forehead, between the curtains of hair, was another eye. Bright yellow and leaking a mysterious red fluid that Kuroo desperately wanted to believe was not blood, it swivelled about before eventually focusing on Kuroo.

 

‘You abandoned me.’ Kenma’s voice was not Kenma’s, but a screeching, awful sound reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard. Kuroo’s hands shot to his ears, and he felt something warm trickle down his face. ‘You  _ left _ me.’ The words hurt. They stung like a slap to the face, like the beast’s tail to his back, like the fire burning at his feet, all at once. ‘ _ You forgot me _ .’

 

Kenma lunged for him, and his attack caught Kuroo unawares. Fist made contact with cheekbone, and Kuroo felt something crack. The impact sent him onto his back into the snow, freezing cold against hot skin - because his coat and furs had mysteriously vanished along with the pleasantness of the memory. He cried out, begging Kenma to stop, to wake up, but Kenma pounced like a cat, and for a moment, Kuroo was amazed he could  _ move _ like that… and then survival kicked in, because Kenma’s hands were around his throat.

 

Kuroo gasped for a breath, and inhaled crisp, fresh, mountain air. Something around his neck gave one final tug and then slipped away, down his arm and off his person entirely. He opened his eyes just in time to see Daishou’s snake dip back between the folds of his master’s robes. He gingerly traced the throbbing line on his neck, but he could breathe normally again, so he picked up the cards, which he’d dropped somewhere along the line.

 

‘You’re quite well travelled,’ Daishou said, watching Kuroo gather and arrange the cards into a somewhat neater pile. There was no doubt if they were shuffled now.

 

‘Get out of my head.’ Kuroo said, hoping the gruffness in his voice would mask how his hands shook as he reached for one of the cards, which had tucked itself under Daishou’s boot. Before he could pick it up, Daishou snatched it and held it out to him between pointer and middle finger.

 

‘You don’t have very steady hands for a master of the Cards.’

 

Kuroo glared at Daishou, and wordlessly shuffled the card back into the deck. He laid the neat pile in front of him, with the tip of the spear depicted on the back pointing directly at Daishou. He turned over the first card, and Daishou leaned forward, both him and his snake peeking curiously at it. It was almost comical.

 

_ The Stag _ . Kuroo stared down at it and realized with a sinking sensation, that his mind was drawing a complete and utter blank. He knew what the Stag represented: pride in one’s origins, elegance, and chivalry in battle. But when he looked up at Daishou and the snake curling around his shoulders, it was hard to imagine him as a chivalrous fighter.

 

The gold paint glittered in the sunlight as Kuroo picked the card up. Half of him wanted to chuck it to the side and watch it float off into the distance, but the rest of him understood he wasn’t playing a game. His life and Kenma’s life were on the line, and he’d already made it two thirds of the way there. He’d also gambled Koutarou and Keiji’s lives.

 

Before his eyes slid shut and his body fell away from him, Kuroo thought that the Stag’s antlers looked very much like Tooru’s. He could imagine Tooru would be everything the card represented: elegant, chivalrous yet lethal, and proud.

 

When he opened them once more, he had returned to the maze. The stench made his stomach churn, and he turned away from the mud, choosing to look upward onto the stone platform instead. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see eyes, much like the one on Kenma’s forehead, peeking out from the walls and ceiling. 

 

On the dais stood a white-robed figure, with curly brown hair and a pair of antlers sprouting from his head. Tooru - Kuroo had seen him enough times to recognize him from every angle. Why was he here? This had never happened: they’d never been alone like this, with Tooru’s back to him surrounded by empty thrones. Kuroo made his way up the steps, his feet unnaturally heavy and loud on the stone. He didn’t look down: he knew what he would see. From the knee down, his legs were stone. 

 

Tooru did not turn when Kuroo approached him, so he walked around to his front. He found him staring ahead, brown eyes dazed and unseeing. A single, brilliant read tear trickled from his left eye, down his cheek, and finally fell, staining a small patch of his snow-white robes. 

 

‘Hey,’ Kuroo shook Tooru’s shoulder a little, getting increasingly more uncomfortable with every passing moment. ‘ _ Tooru _ .’

 

Tooru did not blink, did not appear to see anything, but his lips moved. Slowly, stiffly, as if they’d been frozen for a long time, they formed the words:  _ Why him? _

 

An eerie sensation crept up Kuroo’s spine, and he turned. Startled, he backed into Tooru’s chest, then jumped away from him, too. He tried to process what he was seeing, and  _ why _ he was seeing it, but he couldn’t.

 

Directly opposite from Tooru, there knelt Hajime. Kuroo hadn’t seen him before: he might not have been there, Kuroo had long accepted anything was possible in this realm. Hajime was staring ahead - if Kuroo hadn’t been in the way, his eyes would’ve been meeting Tooru’s - and there was a sword lodged to the hilt in his chest. Scarlet poured out onto the stone, and dripped from Hajime’s fingers, which clutched the hilt.

 

Kuroo tried to tell himself it wasn’t real. He really did, but he couldn’t. He tried to tell himself he shouldn’t care if Hajime and Tooru lived or died, as Tooru was the source of his problems. He tried, but ultimately all he could remember was their kindness towards him and love for one another: the kind of timeless love he wished he could have had with Kenma.

 

‘Why would you do that?’ Tooru’s voice was croaky, his throat dry. ‘After all we’ve done for you.’

 

Recognizing a pattern from his dream with Kenma, Kuroo didn’t immediately turn, trying to give himself time. Instead, he stood staring at Hajime, and the sword nestled in his chest. The hilt was gold, decorated with strings of white beads and animal bones. The odd jade piece peeked out from between the bone. It screamed Tooru.

 

‘You made me kill him.’ Tooru’s voice broke, and Kuroo’s heart hurt. He turned to face the god, and found him with tears streaming from his eyes. The distant look in his eyes and sound to his voice were still there when he repeated: ‘ _ You _ made me kill  _ Hajime _ .’

 

‘I didn’t—’

 

Tooru blinked, and his eyes were black. Kuroo jumped away, already prepared to defend himself, but nothing could have prepared him for the full, unrestrained anger of the forest god. Tooru was angry, heartbroken and hysterical, all at once, and attacked without thought or mercy.

 

Kuroo felt the wind get knocked out of his lungs by the sheer force of Tooru’s attack. An antler scratched deep into his face as he attempted to get away, and the shock of the pain sent air back into his lungs. Tooru threw him as if he weighed nothing, and he landed with a disgusting squelch in the knee deep mud. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the lizard rush forward, alive and enticed by the prospect of food. Then, the wind began to howl as Tooru surged forward.

 

Kuroo grabbed a hold of Tooru’s neck, refusing to be thrown back into the jaws of the beast, and slapped him, hard. Tooru’s head snapped to the side from the impact, but if anything, he only looked more furious. Kuroo punched him. He felt a crack, but Tooru did not stop. 

 

He let Tooru punch him twice, and tasted blood as a reward for it, then used the moment to swing onto Tooru’s back. He seized him by the antlers, like he’d seen the bullfighters do in the deep South. It gave him some control of the situation, and a precious moment to think as Tooru tried to get him off.

 

Then he snapped one of Tooru’s antlers.

 

The resulting howl echoed throughout the cavern, scaring bats into flight. Kuroo tumbled forward, ears ringing, as Tooru went over on his hands and knees, the horrific sound still emanating from his throat. It seemed to shake Hajime out of his trance, and he ran forward, grinding to a halt next to Kuroo.

 

For a moment, there was nothing but the frantic beating of his heart in Kuroo’s ears as he tried to understand what he was seeing. Where there once had been the white-robed god, there was a deer. Soot-black with red eyes, it’s right antler was missing. Whatever had possessed Tooru before, had only been agitated by the pain he caused.

 

‘Get out of here,’ Hajime held out his arm to help Kuroo up, not looking away from the nightmare deer - Tooru, Kuroo had to remind himself - as it stood there, head bowed, poised to attack. Kuroo pulled himself up, but he too, couldn’t look away, let alone think about getting out. ‘ _ Get out of here _ .’ Hajime repeated, but in Keiji’s voice, and shoved Kuroo violently out of the way of the charging deer.

 

Kuroo stumbled, but maintained his balance, turning just in time to see Hajime draw his sword. The deer charged at him, and antler met metal. It didn’t break, but held, and Hajime yelled something at Kuroo over his shoulder. Kuroo didn’t hear him: he was falling again, the sharp end of an antler digging into his hand.

 

The snake was biting his hand, tiny nibbles along his forefinger. Kuroo shook it off, and it slithered back to his owner, who continued to look amused. He resisted the urge to slap him. Daishou was a smug bastard, perfectly aware of what he was doing, and content to let Kuroo suffer through it. He - Kuroo was sure it was him - had sent him back in time to a pleasant memory, then taken it and tore it into shreds. He’d shown him people he’d began to like and hurt them, too. Kuroo wasn’t an idiot: the grand finale was coming, and he was sure he was going to be the first one to exit the stage.

 

He glanced toward his home village, and it’s plumes of smoke rising in the distance. Then at Tooru and Hajime, sat healthy but pale and stunned on the dais. He thought of Keiji, sent down Under, and Koutarou, in stasis, because they’d helped him. Then he thought about Kenma, lost wherever souls went after death, waiting for him… 

 

Kuroo snapped down the second card, and prepared himself for the worst.

 

_ The Crow Queen. _ One of the cards that intrigued Kuroo the most when he’d been studying the Clairvoyants. The art was always dark, mysterious, something out of a nightmare, even, in the older editions. Yet it symbolised pure, loyal, nurturing love and selfless dedication. He never understood  _ why _ or  _ how _ . He stared at the deep red eyes of the Crow Queen, and the world fell away. 

 

He was standing just outside the door to his bedroom. Around him, the house creaked, like it always did on a windy day. It was a sound Kuroo had long learned to love, and it brought him comfort - it was almost as if the house was alive around him, protecting him from the elements. Somewhere down below, he could hear the faint hum of voices. His moms.

 

Kuroo slid open the door to his room and as quietly as he could, braved the creaking stairs. The voices in the kitchen did not even hitch, entirely focused on their conversation. He stepped over the family cat, dozing on the bottom step. The afternoon sun was streaming into the kitchen through the big windows, but the air lacked the usual homely feeling. As he stepped further into the room, he prepared for what he expected to be Daishou’s most torturous creation.

 

The kitchen table had been moved aside, and in its place there stood a regular-sized black bowl, filled with water to the brim. Something was written in white chalk in a circle around it, but white chalk didn’t show very well on gray stone - other than it was there. His moms were sitting cross legged by the bowl, one on either side of it. One was leaning down over the bowl, her hands leaning on the rim, while the other was sitting back, hands folded in her lap, staring into the water, lips moving, but making no sound.

 

He knew what they were doing - he’d seen it in books. Scrying was a forbidden art: it allowed the soul to separate from the body and left it open to possession. Kuroo pushed the thought of Tooru and Kenma’s black eyes out of his head - he didn’t know how these dreams worked, and gods if he was going to let himself be responsible for bringing possession so close to his mothers’ scrying ritual.

 

He took a step closer and breathed a sigh of relief - their eyes were normal. The same warm brown and fiery orange he’d grown up with, but expressionless as they focused on scrying. He wondered if they were looking for him, or trying out a pact of their own. Kuroo crouched down by the bowl, careful not to upset it - a violent end to scrying could lead to a permanent separation of the soul and the body, leading essentially to death.

 

‘Mama,’ he said, very quietly. ‘Mom.’

 

He saw the moment the scrying spell released them. Saw them return to reality, and look around for the source of the sound. He watched as a thousand emotions danced on their faces as they saw him, until eventually they settled on a painful kind of surprise. With a sinking feeling, he realized that they must have sensed the otherworldly feeling about him, and confirmed what they’d feared - what they’d tried to deny by scrying.

 

‘Tetsurou,’ his mom said, very quietly.

 

‘Tell me you didn’t,’ her wife said, voice breaking halfway through the sentence. Kuroo felt his heart break into a million pieces as tears began to run down her face, taking the kohl with it. ‘Tell me you didn’t go into that  _ damned _ forest.’

 

Kuroo felt the tug of the dream ending, of reality calling him to return at the back of his mind, but he resisted it, focusing on the tiny details of his mother’s faces.

 

‘I’m sorry, mama, I’m sorry. I did - I had to. Kenma’s there, I know he is. I’m going to get him back. This is my last trial-’

 

‘ _ Tetsurou _ ,’ his mother wailed. She hid her face in her hands, and Kuroo wanted to reach out and hug her. He could never stop saying he was sorry.

 

‘Baby,’ his mother reached out to him, but stopped just short of his hand. ‘My darling boy. What have you done?’

 

‘It’s going to be fine, mom,’ Kuroo said, a choking feeling in his throat. The call to reality came again, more insistent this time, and he knew he didn’t have long left. ‘I’m going to find him: we’ll be together again, like it used to be.’

 

‘Baby they don’t work like that. They don’t bargain with humans like that,’ his mom’s face was pained, and she swallowed thickly as Kuroo saw his own hand pulse faintly in and out of visibility. ‘Remember - Kenma loved you with his whole heart. Your mother and I love you, more than anything in the world, your grandfather, too. Remember that.’

 

Kuroo, feeling himself being pulled away, lurched forward and pulled them both into a hug. The last thing he felt before the room tipped away from him, was their arms around his shoulders, and the whispered words in his ear:   
  


_ We love you, Tetsurou _ .

 

This time, Daishou was staring at him wide eyed, and the snake was nowhere near Kuroo’s person. A strange hush had fallen over the audience, too, and in the distance, dark clouds began to gather. Frowning, Kuroo glanced down at The Crow Queen. It was upturned, when he vividly remembered it being the right way around when he’d dealt it. Upturned cards were wild cards in the Clairvoyants. They meant the same things as the original card, but chaotic in nature. 

 

‘I’ll be damned,’ Kuroo heard Daishou whisper. Then, clearing his throat, the god nodded toward Kuroo’s face. ‘You got a lil somethin’ on your face.’

 

Reaching up a hand, Kuroo swiped it away. His hands came back kohl-black. Immediately, his mother’s tears and their reassurance that they loved him came to the front of his mind. It was like someone had taken a warm blanket and dropped it on his shoulders, wrapping him in it until he was cosy and warm, safe away from the elements. A fond memory of sitting with Kenma, wrapped in the same blanket, watching the fae dance at Winter’s Crest, flitted through his mind, bringing a smile to his face and surprise to Daishou’s.

 

Kuroo looked down at the deck in his hands, then at the two cards already laid out in front of him: The Stag and the Crow Queen, reversed. A fortune wasn’t coming to him yet, but it rarely did until all cards were in place. Slowly, he turned over his third and final card.

 

_ The Dice.  _ The art was simple on this card: two dice, one showing a six and the other a two, in golden ink. A card that meant bad luck, a rainy day or a change for the worse. Kuroo frowned at it: the two was now a three, then suddenly a five. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but when he looked around, he was no longer in front of Daishou.

 

He was sitting cross legged in the middle of a white, marble floor. Four, huge panels surrounded him, floating in the air. He looked closer, and saw they were blank Clairvoyant cards: no label, no image, but the border and shape were unmistakably Clairvoyants. He reached out and touched the one to his right, ignoring the shaking in his fingers. The surface rippled like a puddle, then stilled. Golden ink began to appear, flowing over the panel until an image was formed.

 

Looking at the card was like looking through a window. Inside, Kuroo saw Koutarou, suspended in mid-air, his wings and arms bound to him by golden chains.  _ Stasis _ . Koutarou’s unseeing eyes were fixed on a point over Kuroo’s shoulder.

 

Kuroo turned, following his line of sight, and froze. There, bound in a similar way by golden cuffs in the other card, was Keiji. He was wounded, severely so, and was struggling. He called out, and Kuroo watched as his lips formed the name:  _ Koutarou _ . No voice came.

 

Kuroo wondered if they could see one another. Then he wondered how he could help them, but he was not allowed to entertain that thought for long - the third panel, directly in front of him, fizzled into life, and Kuroo’s heart lept.

 

There, sitting cross legged inside the third panel, was Kenma. His head was bowed and his hair was falling over his face, but it was unmistakably Kenma. The blackthorn wreath the elders had sent him into the forest with was now solid gold, glittering in the light. His robes were white and red, and finer than anything Kuroo had ever seen. In his left hand, he held a paintbrush, which leaked red onto the ground.

 

‘ _ Kenma _ …’ Kuroo crawled forward, as close as he could get to the card. He put a hand on it, but it wouldn’t let him cross the boundary. ‘Kenma!’

 

Kenma raised his head very slowly, as if his neck was stiff. He blinked once, twice, and then, as if he finally saw Kuroo, he jumped to his feet, racing forward. Kuroo felt a gentle thud as Kenma’s hand touched the barrier where Kuroo’s was, but nothing more than that. His head was spinning.

 

‘Kenma!’ Kuroo felt a tear slide down his cheek, then another, and another. Across the barrier from him, Kenma scrubbed furiously at his eyes. He was in one piece, he was alive, he was healthy. Somewhere behind him, Kuroo could see pillows and food, much like the ones in Kuroo’s own prison. ‘ _ I missed you _ .’

 

‘I missed you, too.’ The sound of Kenma’s voice, albeit muffled, sent more tears coursing down Kuroo’s cheeks. He’d longed to hear it for so long, and here they were, close, but still separated. For the first time since seeing him, Kenma’s eyes moved away from Kuroo’s own. He looked panicked by what he saw, and immediately returned to Kuroo’s. ‘We don’t have time, quick: Once what is possible has been breached, the Two-Faced One shall bring forth a new creation, remember that!’

 

‘Kenma what-’

 

‘It’s the fortune! The one you’re supposed to tell Daishou! Once what is possible has been breached, the Two-Faced One shall bring forth a new creation. Repeat it, Kuro! It’s important!’ Kenma’s voice was high and shaky as he grew more and more panicked. 

 

Confused and increasingly more panicked, Kuroo repeated it, once, twice, until Kenma was satisfied. The panicked aura about him did not stop, and Kuroo didn’t dare look over his shoulder. The sensation creeping at his neck was enough to tell him something was coming for him.

 

‘Kenma,’ something wrapped itself around Kuroo’s ankle, and Kenma whimpered. ‘Kenma,  _ I love you _ .’

 

Kuroo didn’t hear Kenma’s reply, but he heard him scream as he was pulled backward, and impacted with what he assumed had been the fourth and final card - which he’d neglected because of Kenma’s appearance. The world faded to black, and everything went quiet.

 

For a moment, there was nothing but stillness.

 

Perfect, all encompassing stillness.

 

Then, he was standing in front of Daishou, a fortune on his lips. 

 

‘Once what is possible has been breached, the Two-Faced One shall bring forth a new creation.’

 

Kuroo didn’t know exactly what he had expected from the gods, but he had certainly expected a little more…  _ surprise _ . Daishou looked thoughtful, petting his snake and looking down at the three cards: the Stag, the reversed Crow Queen and the Dice. Tooru and Hajime were still pale - Kuroo briefly wondered if they’d also seen the dream with the deer - but Hajime looked relieved as he brushed a hand over his eyes. Tooru was fiddling with a golden ring on his finger, and wouldn’t meet Kuroo’s eyes.

 

‘It has been said,’ Shimizu’s quiet voice broke the deafening silence. ‘Once what is possible has been breached, the Two-Faced One shall bring forth a new creation.’

 

‘You know what it means,’ Daishou’s voice was faraway as he stared at the cards. ‘Don’t you,  _ Tooru _ ? Two-Faced One?’ He paused. ‘What are you going to make?’

 

Kuroo rose to his feet, alarmed. He swayed a little as a gale of wind hit him, but remained on his feet. Daishou didn’t move to stop him or join him, but gazed at the cards. He looked like he’d been told he was going to die. Yuuiji and Koushi shared the expression, as they whispered, heads close together.

 

Tooru stood up from Hajime’s lap, and closed the distance between him and Kuroo in a flash of white light. The other gods merely watched as Tooru put his right hand on Kuroo’s chest. His fingers were long and elegant, and very cold, even through Kuroo’s shirt. For a moment, Tooru only stared down at his hand, then finally met Kuroo’s eyes.

 

‘I’m sorry, Tetsurou,’ he said, and pushed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter's the conclusion, and it might be a lil while longer because _dear gods_ it's hard to wrap up this and make it satisfying. See you then!


	6. As it's been said, it is done

When Tooru pushed him off the platform, Kuroo wasn’t surprised. It was as if the part of him that could feel surprised or shocked or betrayed was broken, crushed under the giant lizard’s claw. He watched without emotion as the platform fell away from him, as Daishou leaned over the edge and watched him fall, with the same, stunned expression. The wind whistled around him, tugging at his shirt, his hair. His sleeves flapped like wings.

 

He fell and fell and fell, until the platform was a mere speck in the sky. The tips of the tallest trees whistled past him, and he knew it was going to be over soon.

 

‘Remember - Kenma loved you with his whole heart. Your mother and I love you, more than anything in the world, your grandfather, too. Remember that.’ his mother’s voice whistled with the wind, making him feel warm and brave.

 

Kuroo smiled as he hit the ground, hard.

 

—

 

When he opened his eyes, everything was quiet. He was in bed with crisp white sheets and a red throw. The sunlight streamed in through the tall, narrow windows and caught the crystals hanging from the chandelier. In the distance, he could hear someone singing, and although the voice itself was unfamiliar, he recognized the song. An old folk ballad, telling the story of a knight that gambled everything he had for his lover, only to die in the end.

 

He sat up to get a better look at the room. This wasn’t what he’d imagined the afterlife to look like: the stories told of a more… spiritual existence. More formless light and less furniture. The room looked like the room of a very rich person: a king or priest, maybe. The furniture was a beautiful dark wood, with gold accents here and there. Outside the windows, fields of red poppies stretched as far as Kuroo could see. Beside him on the bed, there lay a red robe of fine fabric, lined with a black material unlike anything Kuroo had ever seen. He guessed it was meant for him, and deciding not to question anything, slipped it on. It fit perfectly.

 

As soon as he’d done up the last lace - after fumbling around quite a bit - the door flew open. Kuroo only had a moment to gauge what was happening, when Koutarou was hugging him, squeezing the air out of his lungs. After a moment’s hesitation, Kuroo hugged him back, and Koutarou laughed, delighted, and clapped him on the back. Then, he held him at an arm’s length and looked at him, still grinning.

 

‘Well, how does it feel?’ Koutarou asked, big golden eyes sparkling, hair mussed from the wind. Kuroo guessed he’d flown there, wherever there was.

 

‘How does what feel?’ Kuroo asked, regaining his breath in raggedy gasps. 

 

‘He doesn’t know yet, Kou,’ Keiji’s voice was quiet as he stepped into the room after Koutarou. He was pale and there were purple bruises around his wrists, as well as a closed wound down the side of his neck, but he was alive. He sat down gingerly in one of the nearby chairs. ‘Nobody’s told him.’

 

‘Oh,’ Koutarou looked as if he’d been scolded. ‘Should I? Or should I wait for—?’

 

‘Tell me what?’ Kuroo asked, impatiently, not liking the feeling of being talked about as if he weren’t there. 

 

They both turned to him when he spoke, with varying levels of amusement on their faces - Keiji looked lightly amused, Koutarou looked delighted. Koutarou very gently cupped Kuroo’s face in his big hands, and gave Kuroo’s cheeks a little squeeze. Kuroo frowned as he was likened to a fish, and his hands shot up to wrap around Koutarou’s wrists, but he didn’t tug them away, waiting.

 

‘You’re a  _ god _ , Tetsurou.’ Koutarou said, very quietly, when their noses were almost touching. Kuroo blinked, not comprehending, while Koutarou snapped out of his trance and wrapped his arms around Kuroo’s neck. ‘Isn’t that fantastic?’ Then, to Keiji: ‘We’re not the youngest anymore!’

 

Kuroo was lost. He wasn’t a god, he was dead, and the two spirits in front of him should be just figments of his imagination. But Koutarou was a very solid, very firm weight on top of him as he hugged him. Kuroo could smell the forest off of him: moss, fresh grass, and trees.

 

‘Keiji…’ Kuroo’s voice came out as a whine as he turned to the other winged god, who hadn’t said a word to Koutarou’s comment. He tried to look pleading, although that was hard to do when your life was being squeezed out of you by an over enthusiastic 6’ something god.

 

‘It’s true,’ Keiji smiled. It looked odd on him: he had the face of someone that was always serious, cold even. It didn’t look bad, though. ‘Tooru made you a god.’ Kuroo’s head swam, but Keiji continued. Kuroo heard the door click, but Keiji ignored it, so he did too. ‘It was a little… unfair, on our part. You’d have never gotten Kenma back to the mortal realm: you can’t walk back out of the Altar, it’s just not a thing that can be done. But because of the way you worded your request and the fortune, Tooru was able to still give you what you wanted…’

 

‘For the small price of immortality.’ Tooru finished. He was the one that had entered, and been dutifuly ignored by Keiji. Kuroo noticed that one of his antlers was broken: the sight made his stomach churn, but Tooru seemed otherwise unaffected by Kuroo’s nightmare.

 

They’d given him immortality. They’d made him a god. They’d—  _ Kenma _ .

 

‘I didn’t ask for this,’ Kuroo disentangled himself from Koutarou, who sat back on the bed, wings wrapping around him as if he were cold. ‘I asked for Kenma.’ He looked at Tooru with what he intended to be anger, but came out as regret - he could not get the image of the heartbroken Tooru from his dream away.

 

‘And you’ll get Kenma,’ Tooru said. ‘He’s woken up. That’s why I came for you.’

 

Tooru said something else, but Kuroo wasn’t listening. He was tumbling out of bed, and running, barefoot, out the door. Koutarou called after him, but Kuroo didn’t hear him. His legs guided him towards a room at the end of the corridor. The door was ajar, and bright light poured out from it. Kuroo stopped just short of it, and peered through the gap.

 

The room was similar to his own, although here, the walls were covered in paintings and frescoes, all in Kenma’s unique painting style. Hajime sat in an armchair by the bed, still in his armor. With one hand, he was petting the calico kitten that had kept Kuroo company in his prison. The kitten looked at him, but it didn’t seem to recognize him at all: it hid behind Hajime’s leg. Seeing the kitten’s nervousness, Hajime glanced toward the door, and seeing Kuroo, smiled. He gestured him inside.

 

‘Here he is,’ Hajime said, standing up. The kitten protested, and Hajime scooped it up into his arms. It looked tiny by comparison. ‘I’ll give you a moment.’

 

As he broke into a run, Kuroo barely felt Hajime pat him on the back as he passed him on the way to the door. Kuroo only had eyes for Kenma, who’d stood up from the bed, and was looking at him, wide-eyed, and leaning on the four-poster bed.

 

‘Kuro,’ Kenma said, when Kuroo finally reached him and pulled him into a hug. It felt just like he’d remembered: warm, and safe. Kenma wrapped his arms around his neck and held him close, shaking. Kuroo realized he was crying.

 

‘Kenma,’ Kuroo called his name, gently. Kenma had burrowed his face in Kuroo’s shoulder, but he made a small sound in response. ‘I did it.’ Kuroo said, half to Kenma, half to himself. It was still hard to believe, and every moment he expected the dream to end. It didn’t, and Kenma stayed very much alive in his arms.

 

‘Kuro,’ Kenma said again, and lifted his head from Kuroo’s shoulder, leaving two wet patches in the fabric. Kuroo wiped his tears with his sleeve, and Kenma leaned into the touch, just like the kitten had. 

 

Kenma’s eyes were still watery, but he was smiling when Kuroo kissed him. It felt just like Kuroo had remembered, and his heart felt like it was going to burst - he’d missed this so much. He felt like a man drinking water for the first time after being lost in the Ko’bei Desert. Kenma made another little noise that, to Kuroo, was the most beautiful sound in the world… There was a stage cough at the door, and Kenma pulled away, startled. Already knowing who it was, Kuroo rolled his eyes and looked over the top of Kenma’s head at the intruders.

 

Tooru stood at the door, and Hajime was massaging his temples as if he’d tried, and failed, to stop him. Koutarou was peeking out from behind the doorway, and Kuroo assumed that Keiji wasn’t far away, either.

 

‘Sorry to interrupt the romantic reunion,’ Tooru said, and Kuroo let his hand drop from Kenma’s face. Hajime gave him an apologetic look. ‘But we have urgent matters to attend to. You’ll have all eternity to make up for time lo—  _ ow _ !’ Tooru yelped halfway through the innuendo, as Hajime kicked his shin, lightly. He gave his lover a sideways glance that said:  _ get on with it _ . 

 

‘As I was saying,’ Tooru continued, with a pointed look in Hajime’s direction. ‘If I don’t bring you before the Maker’s Tree within the hour of your waking, all this,’ he gestured to them both. ‘Will go to shit, so if you’d be so kind to follow me, I’d be grateful.’

 

The Maker’s Tree, as Kuroo soon found out, was a silverwood tree. Silverwoods were present, but rare in the mortal realm. This one was monstrous in size: the ones Kuroo had seen had only grown to about the size of a garden bush, while this one towered far above Tooru’s antlers. Kuroo kept his arm around Kenma as they approached the lake, because the Maker’s Tree grew on an island in the middle of a luminescent lake.

 

‘One at a time, you tell the tree your name, it does some shit and everything is fine.’ Tooru said, and both Kuroo and Kenma looked at him in surprise. It was strange, hearing him talk so casually and so… normally. Sure, he spoke in the Old Common accent, but it was still the Common Kuroo might’ve heard in an inn somewhere.

 

From behind, Koutarou gave him a little push. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t hurt and it’s best to just get it over with, we’ve all done it.’

 

The water, although it shone in a way water  _ shouldn’t _ , was cold around Kuroo’s ankles, then his knees and his thighs, as he waded through the lake. It wasn’t very deep, thankfully - he didn’t fancy having to swim. He still felt groggy. The bark was rough under his hand when he touched the trunk, and he looked back at the others, waiting for him on the other side. Koutarou nodded at him, and Kuroo turned back to the tree.

 

‘Kuroo Tetsurou.’ he said, softly.

 

At once, there was a great rushing wind that shook the tree from root to it’s crown. The silver leaves that gave the tree it’s name shook violently, and the sound was like a thousand sleigh bells. A mist crept up from the lake, until Kuroo couldn’t see anything but the tree right in front of him - panic welled in his chest, but he forced it down. It was going to be fine. He could deal with just about anything.

 

_ Tetsurou _ , the tree sang, and something caressed his cheek. He jumped and looked that way, but saw nothing but the swirling milky mist. _ You’ve come to meet me at last. _

 

‘Who are you?’ Kuroo’s voice came out meek and feeble. ‘Who are you?’ He tried again, and it came out much better.

 

 _I am the Maker_ , the leaves replied with what could have been a light chuckle. _I am the Maker of gods, and you are my new child._ Kuroo had a thousand questions to ask, but he kept his mouth shut as the tree continued to speak to him. _You have recieved as you had bargained, and fought well for it._ Something caressed his cheek again, but he didn’t move. _As the prophecy foretold, the Two Faced One brought forth a new creation - you, and your love, as gods._ _Do you understand what this means to you?_ The voice grew friendlier, warmer even, if the rustling of leaves could be warm.

 

‘No,’ Kuroo admitted. ‘I don’t.’

 

_ That is quite allright.  _ the tree sang.  _ You see: the Altar only works one way. What can go in cannot come out. As you completed your tasks, you were meant to die: your prize being dying together with Kenma. _ Kuroo had suspected as much. His mother had warned him of it, too, in the dream he’d had at the final trisl.  _ But your …  _ the tree seemed to hesitate.  _...strange prophecy gave Tooru a way to keep his word. He doesn’t like breaking promises, that one, and so you stand before me: the first new god in millenia. _

 

‘The god of what?’ Kuroo asked, meekly. Instead of answering, the tree showed him a vision: In the Southern Temples, the High Priest had recieved a dream. He woke trembling, but with inspiration in his hands. Kuroo watched as he began to paint on a large canvas: black, red, white, gold…

 

_ Tetsurou. _ the tree explained.  _ The god of bravery. Of loyalty. Of wit and intellect. Of perseverance. His sigil is the black cat. His colors are black like soot and red like blood. They will worship you, Tetsurou, as far as the eye can see. _

 

The High Priest’s work began to take shape and Kuroo saw… well, himself, only not like he’d remembered himself. In the painting, he wore the red robes he wore now, and a black cloak. He half expected to see black cat ears - Tooru had antlers, for Maker’s sake - but there were none, just his wild hair. He reached his hand up to it, selfconsciously. In the painting, there was a golden aureole around his head, and he was golding a blackwood bow. The priest’s hand tembled as he added the finishing touches, and then he sat back, looking at the painting before him.

 

Kuroo watched with mixed emotions as the priest began to pray to him. Like an echo, he heard the words in his own head:

 

_ Blessed be, blessed be. Grant your humble servant your grace. _

 

—

 

Koutarou took more joy in discovering Kuroo’s new abilities than Kuroo himself, and it was nice. Ever since the time in the maze, where Koutarou had put himself between the executioner and Kuroo, there had been a different air between them. Kuroo looked forward to befriending him, because it seemed like they were destined for it.

 

Kuroo watched as Keiji and Koutarou took to the skies, disappearing and reappearing among the clouds, their wings spread wide. He stayed sitting on the top of the clock tower of a foreign town, listening to it toll below him. 

 

Beside him, sat Kenma - or should he say, _Kenma_ , the patron god of artists, among others - leaning gently on his shoulder, like a cat.

 

‘It was horrible,’ Kenma said, in his quiet way, as he watched Koutarou take Keiji by the hand to attempt an airborne waltz.

 

‘What was?’ Kuroo asked, looking away from the pair. Kenma’s eyes were faraway, but his hand slipped into Kuroo’s and squeezed tight.

 

‘Watching you in pain.’ Kenma said. He must’ve felt Kuroo’s surprise, because he added, quickly, but quietly: ‘The Maker didn’t let me watch the trials, but Shoyou… one of Shimizu’s birds, the red one… managed to teach me a spell that let me… possess…’ he fumbled with the word. ‘...that kitten.’

 

‘Oh,’ Kuroo said, dumbly. No wonder the kitten had seemed very Kenma-ish. 

 

‘I heard you talking about me.’ Kenma said, and  _ finally _ looked at Kuroo. He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb over Kuroo’s cheek, and Kuroo felt like he could fly. And when Kenma kissed him, he did fly. Not on physical wings like Koutarou or Keiji, but on shadows, from the clock tower to a little straw roof in a small village, near the Deun-Roh. 

 

Kuroo heard his mothers talking about the new shrine - a joint one: to the god Tetsurou, and the memorial one, for Kuroo, who’d left them too soon, but not really. He held Kenma in his arms, and felt his heart beat steadily in his chest:  _ Alive. Alive. Alive. _

 

‘I love you.’ said Kenma, and Kuroo grinned like an idiot, feeling like he was that young boy again, madly in love for the first time, and for all eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for any mistakes in this chapter, I'm currently fighting a heat-induced headache so everything is mushy and confusing. Will look over the entire fic later and add tags/characters etc etc.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the fic!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to leave this here and run before I have second thoughts about sharing it. It's an idea I've been toying with for a long time, and borrows a lot from Slavic mythology, at least aesthetics-wise. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> As always, feel free to suggest tags because I am complete and utter garbage at tagging. Also sorry about any potential mistakes! I have done my best, but you know how it is.
> 
> You can come yell at me on Twitter: [@merrihael](https://twitter.com/merrihael)!


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